


Memento Mori

by adrift_me



Category: Syberia
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Paganism, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 51,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Respice post te! Hominem te memento!But we don't speak about death and its inevitability, but, first of all, about memory. And, of course, life.Simple, as it seems at first, relationship between a woman and a man who have a long history. And all this set in the world of other people's fate, religion, paganism, mysticism, and a long way home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Memento Mori](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/232666) by Anna Sher. 



> A few words from the translator, myself, before you begin reading.  
> First of all, a huge thanks to the author of this story, Anna Sher, who kindly allowed me to translate her beautiful work. It is a rather unusual story that just can't leave one unemotional and untouched. So prepare yourself.  
> Secondly, thanks to all m friends who supported me and were so generous as to help me proofread the story. Without you, it'd have been a mess.  
> And thirdly, enjoy this story. I won't spoil it for you, but it might be not what you expect and it also might be so much more. It's all about life, faith, love.
> 
> Mature rating for explicit language and some minor violent content.
> 
> The story updates can be found in a [Facebook Syberia group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/BenoitSokal.Syberia/) :)

**North-East of Russia. The hospital of the Blessed Virgin Mary. January 16, 200*. 3 hours past afternoon.**

  


_ Soften our evil hearts, O Mother of God, _

_ And quench the attacks of those who hate us _

_ And loose all straightness of our souls. _

_ For looking on thy holy icon _

_ We are filled with compunction by thy suffering and loving-kindness for us _

_ And we kiss thy wounds; _

_ We are filled with horror for the darts with which we wound thee. _

_ Let us not, O Mother of Compassion, _

_ According to the cruelty of our hearts, perish from the cruelty of heart of those near us, _

_ For thou art in truth the Softener of Evil Hearts. _

_   
_

A deep breath. Oxygen barely managed to make its way through the lungs and run down the body. Light grayish ceiling with cracked plaster seemed blindingly white upon wakening. And not only the ceiling - everything around was unusually bright and light, compared to what he was used to seeing earlier. How much earlier?

_ I passed out a minute ago... _ he said in his mind and didn’t believe his own words.

His head was spinning a bit, there was a lump in his throat. He hardly managed to move his glance away from the ceiling and turned his head to explore the room. There was a bedside table with a gramophone on it. An unwontedly loud and heavy male bass was reading a prayer from the vinyl, echoing across the entire room.

_ We cry out with heartfelt emotion to the chosen Virgin Mary, far nobler than all the daughters of the earth, Mother of the Son of God, Who gave salvation to the world: Look at our life which is filled with every sorrow and remember the sorrow and pain which thou didst suffer as one born on earth with us, and do with us according to thy merciful heart, that we may cry unto thee: Rejoice, much-sorrowing Mother of God, turn our sorrows into joy and soften the hearts of evil men! _

Dull light sneaked through a small window. It was breaking through gray clouds and gently covering the lubber rotten floor planks. Concrete walls with a greenish shade were depressing. There was a calendar with a church picture hanging by the door, a small icon was above it. The face, pictured on the icon, couldn’t be distinguished from such a distance.

He turned his head in another direction, feeling a wave of dull pain covering him.

It turned out, that by his right side there was another bed with a pale as death woman on it. She was moaning quietly, judging by her lips. The sounds, coming from her, were hardly heard, overpowered by the voice from the gramophone.

_ O much sorrowing Mother of God, more highly exalted than all other maidens, according to thy purity and the multitude of thy suffering endured by thee on earth: Hearken to our sighs and soften the hearts of evil men, and protect us under the shelter of thy mercy. For we know no other refuge and ardent intercessor apart from thee, but as thou hast great boldness before the One who was born of thee, help and save us by thy prayers, that without offence we may attain the Heavenly Kingdom where, with all the saints, we will sing the thrice-holy hymn to One God Almighty in the Trinity, always now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen. _

After a short “amen” the voice fell solemnly silent, leaving the monotonous hiss of the vinyl. It appeared the gramophone needle stopped its running down the record.

He returned to studying the ceiling.  _ Where am I? _

There was nothing else in the room, apart from two beds, two chairs, a side table with the gramophone and a calendar with the icon. A minimum of things for two people, sharing this little space. A peculiar little world with its own ecosystem.

There were footsteps outside and a quiet sound of conversation. The woman on the bed whimpered louder - now she could be heard. He looked at her again, as if remembering something, but forgetting it immediately. He tried to draw attention to himself in the woman’s fashion, but only a constrained hoarse noise left his throat.

He had to move. He had to get up and walk to the door.

He had always set clear and achievable goals. Just reach the door - it isn’t so hard, is it. Just a few meters, and he could grab the door handle, pull or push it, and then call for help, ask them, where he was and who he was.

But to do this, he had to sit up first. Leaning on his right hand, he attempted to sit up and realised at once, how complicated the set taskwas. His body seemed rusty, like in a nightmare. He squinted and fell back on his back. There was ceiling before his eyes again, so cold and so clean, despite its gray colour.

But hold on…

Something was wrong…

And it wasn’t the strange room, or the whimpering woman, or the hissing gramophone, or even the voices behind the door. There was something wrong with himself, something off. And it terrified him.

Trembling nervously, he pulled his hand from under the blanket, brought it up close to his face and stared at it in a stupor. Every single vein, every wrinkle were studied closely. Having finished with the right hand, he also studied the left one. He touched his face with both hands. It was scratchy, maybe a 3 days stubble. He found a moustache and slightly sunken cheeks - he must have had nothing to eat for long. Then he pulled the blanket up to his stomach and, struggling with pain, looked down at two human legs, sticking out of a burlap night gown. Limbs, usual limbs - nothing special, just slightly crooked fingers on his hands. But…

The gramophone was hissing. The woman was whimpering. The ceiling stayed incredibly clean.

Holding tight onto the bed mattress, he practically slid down the bunk and fell on a cold wooden floor. As ill luck would have it, there was silence behind the door now. He spent several minutes on the floor in a fetal position without moving, breathing dust from the floor in. He turned on his stomach and with the help of his hands, pulled his unyielding body closer to the door. Pain in the muscles came at once. Clenching his teeth, he made another move and after that he helplessly sprawled on the floor.

_ Come on! Move! _

His legs froze like stone, despite his mental orders. Out of despair and pain, he slammed his fist on a floor. Muffled sound hit empty walls. It felt better.

He still had to get to the door. The man took a deep breath, filling his lungs with musty air, and either with wheeze or roar, he moved forward. And again. And again, until his hand touched the plinth. It was unevenly painted with the same colour as the door and came off the wall for a whole centimeter. 

How high up the door handle was! From the floor, this distance seemed unreachable, but he couldn’t give up. He thrust his hand towards it, trying to reach his goal in vain, when suddenly there were footsteps from outside: someone was quickly approaching him. Without warning, the door flung open and someone in a black robe appeared on a threshold. He had no strength left to look who it was.

“Ah, sister Anastasia!” a female voice squealed. “Sister Anastasia! Hurry, come here!”

There was another black silhouette in the doorway. The two women bent down, took him under his arms, lifted him off the floor and dragged him back onto the bunk. As soon as he laid down, the first woman, who screamed, stopped the hissing of the gramophone and carefully touched the ill woman’s sweaty forehead with a cloth. The other one, sister Anastasia, sat by his side. Now he could have a better look at her wrinkled face. He attempted to sit up, but she stopped him with a strong hand.

“Stay calm, my son. You are safe,” she said with a very strong accent. He grabbed the woman’s hand.  _ Where am I? _

“You are in the hospital of the Blessed Virgin Mary,” she said, as if she read his mind. “I am sister Anastasia. And this -” she pointed at the other woman, who was tending to the ill one, “is sister Elizabeth. You were found several miles away from here, on the side of a forest road. You were in snow, unconscious. But God saved you. He sent our sisters that way that day to save you.”

Judging by the frowning look of the young man, the sister guessed that he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Do you remember how you got there, my son?”

He shook his head after a short pause.

“Where are you from?”

_ Where am I from? _ He asked himself and couldn’t answer this simple question. But surely, he couldn’t have come from nowhere. This made him feel even more troubled. How could he not remember?

“I… I-I… I don’t remember,” it was all he managed to force out with a strange voice that he thought didn’t belong to him.

Sister Anastasia was filled with compassion for the poor man, whose eyes were touched with panic, as he tried to remember in vain. Lingering for a moment, she decided to ask to know for sure.

“What is your name? Do you remember it?”

He frowned again. His eyes froze as he stared in a spot of his mind, and his face turned gray.  _ My name? Name… _

There were only strange numbers and codes in his head. He unsuccessfully tried to fight them off, but they kept returning the moment he concentrated on his memory. Nothing happened. There was a lump in his throat again.

“Do not feel sad, child, you will remember soon. Our Lord is merciful to his daughters and sons. He won’t leave you in the unknown. Only strong faith will help you remember yourself. My sisters and myself will pray for the health of your body and the salvation of your soul. May Holy Mother of God and the Holy Spirit have mercy over you. Amen!”

She crossed him over with three fingers and touched his shoulder. He noticed a stud on her sleeve. From his point of view, it looked like a latin “x”. So terribly familiar. A strange impulse echoed in his head, something fleeting, almost unnoticeable, but he managed to grab it, like a bird’s tail. XZ…

His face brightened up at once. He stopped sister Anastasia, who was already getting up and intending to leave.

“Wait… Oscar!” he shouted. “I think my name is Oscar.”


	2. Chapter 2

**The youkol village. January 6, same year. 2 hours past midnight.**

The shaman of the Northern tribe Youkol was waddling towards her hut, lighting her way up with a torch. She was pressing a wooden bowl to her chest with her left arm. There were random bits and bobs in the bowl: bones, skins of tiny animals, herbs, feathers, beads, fabric, tiny bell-like things, canes and other stuff. What she was going to do with it only mammoths could know.

Along the way, she was muttering something under her breath, but every half a minute she repeated the same monotonous “toom-toom, toom-toom; took-toot, took-toot”.

She kept slipping on the road in the darkness, while trying to fix the bowl in the crook of her arm, but in the end, she managed to come back safely.

Finally reaching her home and awkwardly stepping up the stairs, she took a moment to catch her breath and only then pushed the door and entered the hut.

“Aie aie aie, oie oie oie, what a bad idea to wake the souls of those who are gone. It will be ve-ery bad,” she addressed someone in the depth of her hut in broken English. No one responded to her and only the masks on the walls were slyly looking at the woman with their empty eye slits.

She placed a bowl on the table and started pulling out objects in an order  known only to herself. When the bowl became empty, the woman looked over her treasure in a pleased manner, as a lucky fisherman would.

“Aaah, good, very good, too-ook-toot.”

Behind her a dark silhouette suddenly rose and froze without a single movement. As if feeling it with her neck, the shaman suddenly changed in face, grabbed an empty bowl, turned around abruptly and threw it at the unbidden guest.

“Shoo-shoo, you son of a bitch!” she shouted in clear Russian, almost without an accent, directing her words at the flying piece of tableware. The spirit dissolved in the air at once, and the bowl rolled down the floor with terrible noise, hitting a wooden side table. The darkness, overflowing the hut, had escaped into all the corners like mice, scared by sudden sounds.

“A-a ne-e ma! Koolit took et ve-etbet oo-ootoo ne bek vata!” the shaman hissed as threateningly as she could. Then she laughed with her strange laughter and added. “Venum me, toon-toot na-amoon oomoon net Sulutka-azh.”*

_ *Out, everyone out! This meal is not for your mouths! Go and dance on the bones of your Gods instead! _

Once the darkness had fully dispersed and the room filled with dim light of the candle, the shaman picked up the bowl and returned to her work with a calm heart.

***

**The hospital of the Blessed Virgin Mary. January 18, same year. 7 AM.**

The snowstorm was hitting the ward’s window and howling like a wounded animal. The wind was violently chasing snow from side to side, making the fir tree tops, whose black silhouettes were visible through the snowstorm, bow respectfully.

He was sitting on his bed, staring into the wall. Against violent weather, he seemed even more motionless than he actually was.

The woman from the other bed was gone. Last evening she suddenly stopped whimpering. The man supposed first, that she had finally fallen asleep, and was glad for silence. But soon after sister Elizabeth had come to cover the woman with a white sheet, he realised that her life had stopped. Right before his eyes. In that moment, the deceased became the cleanest and brightest creature within the darkness, as if she were a castle ghost. Her silhouette, covered with bed sheets, seemed to have been about to soar above the bed.

The woman was taken away, her bed was laid with a thick brown cover. The cleanliness was gone, and for a few hours the whole hospital, as it seemed to him, was filled with all-embracing sorrow. He was alone in his room now.

Someone knocked on the door and opened it quietly. Sister Elizabeth stood in the doorway, holding a bag. She was much younger than sister Elizabeth, maybe 35, not more.

“Good morning, Mr. Oscar,” she said and closed the door, hiding the darkness of the hall behind her. “I hope, you could sleep this time?”

“How do you do, sister Elizabeth,” he said politely, ignoring her question. “Where is sister Anastasia?”

“She is busy and can’t visit you, unfortunately. There are people here, who need a lot of care and attention. Some are hopeless…”

“Like that woman?” he glanced over at the neighbouring bed.

The sister nodded after a short pause. Their glances met and each of them realised something significant.

Sister Elizabeth sat on the edge of his bed and silently touched the man’s ankle under his sheet and squeezed. Oscar shook his head -  _ no, I don’t feel anything _ . Then she pressed on his side - nothing as well. She moved her hand on his stomach and then he nodded unhappily.

“Don’t give in to despair and torment your soul. You still have your life, and it’s much more important,” she said softly and compassionately.

“But I absolutely must have my feet!” he snapped.

“It’s not over yet. For example, you already know your name and this means, that your sensitivity will return, as well as your memories.”

“Do you know this for certain, sister Elizabeth?”

“No, but…”

“Exactly,” he finished for her.

“But I have faith in our Lord’s mercy and the grace he sent us. And I pray for you, asking God to look over your illness every time.”

“I must say that your prayers are futile, sister.”

The woman sighed and passed him a small bag she was holding.

“Take it. These things were with you, when you were found. Perhaps, they can help restore your memories, and you will remember everything, just like you remembered your name. Now I must return to my duties. And… Mr. Oscar, please know, that here, we all are Lord’s people and serve him faithfully. No one will offend or judge you here… We help anyone, who lost their way. Rest and sleep. May God bless you.”

Having said that, the sister left the ward with the sound of a wailing storm in the background.

There were only 4 objects in the bag: a heavy lighter with a bear head image, a very simple mobile phone, a black leather wallet and a small pocket flashlight the size of his palm.

He began with his mobile phone, hoping to find numbers he could call. Maybe, someone was looking for him. But the damn device wanted a code of 5 digits which he didn’t have. After six-seven tries Oscar gave up and put the device away, moving on to the wallet. He found several banknotes of 10, 50 and 100 russian roubles in it, some cash and a receipt from a shop. It revealed a purchase of fish and meat cans. Nothing else. But turning the receipt over, he noticed handwritten numbers: 38-05-1. He entered them in the phone hopefully - and oh wonder! - the device beeped and flashed in a friendly manner. The phone seemed quite new. He must have bought it recently and wrote down the code to remember it.

There was only one “New Contact” in the contacts list, and it showed up several times in recent calls. Oscar pressed the button, deciding to call this unfamiliar number, even despite weak connection. After a few long seconds, silence was interrupted by a female voice.

“The phone number is switched off or out of the coverage area... please call back later.”

Then it fell silent.

He kept staring at the phone, thinking of what he had heard. “ _ The phone number is switched off or out of the coverage area... please call back later _ ”. What now? Well, nothing at all. 

***

“How is he?” asked sister Anastasia, running into sister Elizabeth in the hall by chance.

“He is still lost, doesn’t remember anything,” she replied with a sigh.

“I hope you didn’t tell him how… exactly he arrived to us. How we found him?”

“No.”

“Good. He mustn’t know it yet or his soul shall be covered with darker veil still. Do you understand?”

“Of course, sister, I do.”

“Very well,” sister Anastasia smiled. “Well, you still have a lot of work to do, go in peace.”


	3. Chapter 3

**North-East of Russia. Volokamsk village, “Pridorozhnaya” eatery. October 5, 7 years earlier. A few minutes past 6PM.**

“Tink!” a small bell over the door jingled heartily, notifying the place about a newcomer, like a guard dog tells its masters about uninvited guests. It was a semi lit room, cramped and unsightly. A strong smell of alcohol, mixed with the smells of stale food, could easily repulse anyone’s appetite. And those, who were particularly sensitive, could even get a headache. Laughter and loud conversations were hitting ears, there was the tinkling of plates from the kitchen. Nonetheless, everyone chewed their food portion obediently. It was the only eatery for tens of kilometers, so one couldn’t complain it was obscene. Though could such a word as “obscene” be used to such an “intelligent” crowd, that sat upon their chairs, imagining Paris or Venice outside, instead of a gray sky and streets, covered with junk. That was more or less a rhetorical question.

A young man of 26 years old entered the eatery, closed the door, took off his hat, clenching it in his fist, looked around the place and sat on a high stool at the bar. Almost immediately a plump woman appeared and placed a glass of vodka before him.

“Hello, August. You look even more sullen today than usual,” she said evenly in a hoarse voice, wiping her hands on the skirt of her apron.

“Go to hell,” he muttered and gulped hot clear alcohol drink down.

“Aie, I want to help you and you keep snapping, like a dog on a knucklebone. Ugh!”

“Sorry. Today is not going so well… Wish I could just go and hang.”

“What, problems at work again?” she asked without surprise and poured another glass of vodka. Alcohol was the only soul medicine in this land. So was a good conversation.

“Yeah, problems… They sacked me.”

“What do you mean, sacked?”

Now she was quite surprised. Of course, August had his disagreements with the local superiors, but it wasn’t as bad as to kick him out. In such a remote place people were needed vitally and no one would toss people out. The young man must have done something unthinkable…

“Well, this is it!” he spread his arms in a shrug and gulped down the drink again. “They don’t need me, those brainless pigs. Didn’t please them! Expired like old milk!”

“Shh, don’t shout,” she looked around cautiously and then gazed at the man compassionately. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“There’s nothing to tell… and it’s none of your business.”

“Well if it isn’t, then I won’t give you any more drinks on the house.”

The man hemmed, but said nothing. The woman sighed heavily.

“Look, August, I’ve heard a rumour, that someone is building a railroad not that far from here. They need labour force. Work is hard, of course, and they pay next to naught, but it’s all better than wear the seat of your pants out and live without money. Remember how it was before? Do what you want at work, the government pays for you anyway, just no loitering. There were tickets and pensions, and now… Everything has broken down, every man to himself. Like jungles, August, only worse. We’re in taiga. So think. With no coin in pocket you’ll face the Maker in no time. If I were you, I’d accept. Or you could go and beg at your previous work. One way or another, your hunger-strike is dead frost.”

The man was thinking her words over. The woman had already managed to wipe the counter with a cloth, put away the dishes, go to the kitchen and return, when he finally said:

“So, where are they building this railroad?”

The woman smiled contently.

“That’s what I like about you, August, your lack of fear of finding adventures.”

***

**The hospital of the Blessed Virgin Mary. February 1, 200*. Between 8 and 9 AM.**

Sister Anastasia was slowly walking down a dark narrow hall of the hospital, slightly limping on her right leg. Every time winter struck brutally, her health had worsened, but every time she also prayed to God, and all her illnesses and pains left by spring. And now, walking terribly slow and waddling, she praised the Maker and prayed for his kindness, as if she were atoning for her sins with pain.

Often enough she had to pause and greet other sisters, who only had time to say “Good morning, sister Anastasia” and disappear behind plain doors. She smiled at them in a most sincere way one could imagine, but sometimes, almost unnoticeably, she looked at their light gait.

Everyone worked tirelessly.

Reaching the end of the hall, the woman turned right, went up the small 5-step stairs with an effort, turned again and appeared before the entrance of a ward, where a patient was, who tormented, troubled and filled her mind with doubts for half a month.

He was a very ordinary young man, an American or an Englishman, judging by his English speech. It was a good thing sister Anastasia learnt a lot in her life, including languages. Though she couldn’t be compared to sister Elizabeth: she was a true polyglot, and all her evenings she spent with her hobby. She read foreign books, but had no one to practice with. Tourists don’t usually go in such a remote place, so only sister Anastasia was a comfort to her. And now Mr. Oscar. No wonder that sister Elizabeth had grown on him so much. Once she randomly called him an “English patient”, and this name sticked to him in the hospital, while his actual name, foreign and strange to a russian ear, had been quickly forgotten.

Sister Anastasia touched the door handle and her fingers trembled. Why was her soul so troubled? She asked herself again and again. _What am I afraid of? Why am I trembling? It’s he, who must be terrified of his sin, even if he doesn’t remember it…_

She plucked up her courage and finally entered the ward to find the man standing at the window. He wore no burlap nightgown, but heavy boots, warm trousers and a sweater over a shirt. There was a backpack and a fur jacket on a laid bed.

“Good morning, sister Anastasia,” he smiled at her.

“I see you have fully recovered, my son,” she said without hiding her surprise. “I had faith.”

“Your faith is truly strong, sister,” he nodded and headed to his bed in a slightly wavering pace.

“Are you leaving us already?”

“Unfortunately. Your prayers and your Lord helped me get up, but couldn’t return my memories. I must do it myself,” he shrugged.

“Where are you going?”

“I must find my... “ He paused and touched the strap of his backpack, “home.”

“Your home is where your heart and family are. You could stay here, till your memories return. You could help us, doing godly deeds, atoning for your sins and the sins of other people.”

“There is nothing to atone for, sister. May I express my sincere gratitude for your help. You are very kind, so is sister Elizabeth. I am very sorry indeed to leave you, but I have no choice. Could you please tell me where I was found, so that I could begin my search there?”

The woman sighed heavily, then came to terms with herself. In fact, deep inside, she was happy that the “English patient”, worrying her so much, was finally leaving the hospital. _I did all I could. There is no guilt on me for what he’d done._

“When you leave the main entrance, turn right. Go down the road to the first crossroads. Then to the left and forward. The roads are swept with snow, so be careful to stay on your path. A few miles later you’ll find what you are looking for. I can say no more. Be careful and may God save you!”

She crossed him in the air and was about to leave, when she noticed the calendar by the door. It stilled showed January 31. She decided to fix it by folding the page over and marking February 1. Now instead of a picture with a small church, there was a new photo of a monastery in the mountains.

“What’s this?”

The question, so sudden and abrupt, made sister Anastasia flinch and turn around. She looked at Oscar reproachfully, but he didn’t stir an eyelid - he stared at the photo with a serious look, frowning.

“It is a male monastery. They serve God just like we do here. Does it seem familiar?”

“I am unsure,” replied Oscar thoughtfully.

“Regardless, they are always happy to have new brothers,” the woman hinted when someone called her in the hall. “I must return to work. May the sky be bright over you, my son!”

She said it and left.

***

Oscar opened the entrance door, stepped down the porch and onto the blindingly white snow. It was as mysteriously clean as the sheet with which the dead woman was covered days ago. Dark trunks of the pine trees were rushing upwards from snow. Their quiet creak disturbed the solemn silence of the forest, and their crooked branches spread to the sides, as if trying to touch each other. But something inside themselves stopped them, though they only needed a bit more effort, like Adam did in the famous Michelangelo's fresco. After a long snowstorm, nature froze in silence, awaiting the next heavenly wrath. _Well now, forward!_

“Mister Oscar!” someone called him from the porch, and he turned around. There was sister Elizabeth on the threshold, wrapped in a warm shawl. Her black clothing seemed darker against snow, and her bright eyes - even brighter. He imagined for a moment that she turned into one of the pine tree trunks.

“I was told you were leaving, and I was afraid I wouldn’t have time to say goodbye,” she breathed out, and a small cloud of winter breath left her mouth.

“Well, you are in time,” he smiled.

“Where are you going?

“First to the place where you found me. Sister Anastasia pointed me in its direction. And then… there is a male monastery somewhere here. Sister Elizabeth, perhaps, you know which way it is?”

“A monastery? As far as I know, our hospital is the only godly refuge in these lands. But hold on, perhaps, there is something like that. By the city called Romansburg. It’s three days walk, not less.”

“Nonetheless, I must go there. How do I get there?”

“You’ll get lost in the forest. Better get to the railroad first, it goes straight to Romansburg. Reach the river, then down the bank and you’ll quickly get there,” she gestured in the direction she mentioned. “And then always to the North. If you truly wish to find what you are looking for, God will help and lead you.”

“Thank you, sister,” he nodded.

“Mister Oscar,” she faltered.

“Yes, sister?”

She stepped down the porch and approached him, looking around nervously.

“I must tell you something,” she whispered. “About the reason you ended up here. About how we found you. Sister Anastasia forbids me to speak about it with you, because she thinks it might shake your faith in salvation of your body and soul. But I can’t let you go not knowing, for you must. We didn’t find you on the side of the forest road, Mr. Oscar…”

“And where did you find me?” he asked quietly, looking at the woman with worry and curiousity.

There were footsteps on the porch. The woman whispered even quieter and quicker.

“She thinks you are a sinner, but I don’t believe it. She reckons, your heart is full of sorrow and your soul itself relieved you from the memories, but I’d like to think that your life is full of hopes and… “

“Where was I found, sister Elizabeth?” he grabbed her shoulders and shook lightly. “Where?!”

“By the foot of a small rock…” her voice trembled. “There were trees, growing on its top and… the snow must have softened the landing.”

She slid her hand in her sleeve and extracted something.

“This was on you. Now you understand. God saved you, saved… He wishes your life and I don’t want you to forget it!”

Oscar stood still, trying to comprehend what she tried to explain. _Couldn’t I…_ He touched his neck reflexively, and sister Elizabeth nodded.

A very young woman appeared on the porch, holding a bowl. The woman gave a start, as if shaking a very heavy stone off her soul.

“Goodbye, mister Oscar! And know, that God is on your side,” and she thrust a rough thick rope in his hands, tied in a knot and with its end ripped off. The woman disappeared in the dark doorway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jukola village. January 6, same year. 3 hours past midnight.**

“What would you do if you were me?” a young woman asked a white owl, that sat proudly upon a perch and looked at her with its big yellow almond eyes. Light feathers looked mysterious in dense darkness, and only the torch in the woman’s hand stole this tiny spot from the endless insanity of obscurity.

“Hoot,” replied the owl and ruffled up like a wet sparrow after rain. The woman sighed.  _ Am I right to do this? There is another’s life in my hands again, but now it’s only I who can decide what to do with it.  _ But doubts gave way to self-righteousness.  _ No, everything is right, nothing happens without a reason. I fix a mistake, I don’t create, I only return. _

“Help me, kind spirit. Point me to my dream.”

“Hoot,” the owl said again and, heavily soaring into the air, disappeared under the roof of the cave.

***

The crosses on top of the monastery cupolas scratched the sky and caught the pitiful snippets of the clouds that managed to break away from the endless gray sky. Rare snowflakes gradually danced their swan song in the air and disappeared on cold stones.

The height and the thin air made head spin, and fog covered the eyesight. Sometimes the birds’ song was heard - something sheer, as if someone, dressed in an elegant dress or tux, abruptly hit a crystal wine glass with a silver spoon in an empty hall. The sound spread around, hit the walls and froze in the middle. And all the attention was drawn to this cleanliness. Deadly-pale and deliriously beautiful. Perhaps, the cupolas could be the silver spoon; snow and ice - the crystal glass. God himself wouldn’t mind tying a bow on his neck.

It was harder to get to the monastery than Oscar had imagined at first. Though he left the hospital fed and well-rested, in less than 3 hours he felt he was exhausted. But he clearly understood that if he sat for one minute - he won’t ever get up. It was incredibly hard to go through loose snow. He was knee-high stuck in it, despite going down the snow swept road, not the forest.

By the end of the first day he managed to get only to the river and was happy about that. At least he knew he was on the right track. Now down the river flow and to the railroad. And then always to the North. He remembered now quite certainly.

Walking down the bank some more, he finally fell in exhaustion. In semidarkness he found an old bear den, with no bear thankfully, settled in the mossy roots, pulled out a pastry from his backpack and relished it. He was wrapped in a cover that he took from the hospital. The first night was spent in cold, hunger and fear. There was very little food left, so he had to be careful. He could hardly close his eyes, though by morning exhaustion took its toll and he managed to get an hour of restless sleep. It was broken by the sounds of forest and the noise of the wind.

His heart was beating madly, chasing hot blood down to the most important parts of his body. The sensitivity of his fingers and feet disappeared soon and Oscar did his best to move them.

Darkness had often brought despair with it.  _ Perhaps, I should pray, like sister Elizabeth taught me? _ He thought, but then remembered that he either didn’t know or didn’t remember any prayer at all.

When the dawn broke, he continued his trip down the river. To overcome exhaustion and cold, he had to encourage himself, thinking of how nice it would be to finally reach his goal. Sometimes he took his phone out and stared at the mysterious number. If he managed to come across a spot with connection, he pressed the call button at once, but only heard the familiar female voice, coldly informing him about the turned off device of the recipient. Why weren’t there other numbers? Why only this one? Whose number was it? Maybe, his only relative’s? Friend’s? Wife’s?

Suddenly the river fell into a waterfall, and Oscar had to find his way down. Unfortunately, the hill was too steep, though not too high. Jumping down without knowing what the snow was covering was dangerous. In the end he made a large circle around, going quite far from the river. The forest seemed immense.

Finally, he found a descent and safely overcame this difficulty, though feeling sorry about lost time and energy. Now he had to return to the river. He walked along the rock, but now downstairs and in the opposite direction. At some point he looked up and froze. There were cold creeps running down his spine and it had nothing to do with cold temperature… It seemed that though he didn’t intend to, he found the confirmation of what sister Elizabeth said. There was a piece of rope, hanging down from one of the trees on the rock, that grew there, bowing their tops over the edge.

There was a strange, fleeting but strong whirlwind in his mind, which disappeared at once. Oscar squinted and swallowed nervously. Then he forced himself to walk away quicker and without looking back.

He went on and on for half a night, lighting his way up with a flashlight. There was nowhere to stop anyway, and his sleep was repelled by the horrific find at the rock. The only thing that worried him were forest wild animals. The idea of stumbling upon a pack of wolves or a bear wasn’t cheerful. Finally, he decided to make a stop. He hardly managed to get on top of a crooked tree in complete darkness. He felt much safer there than on the ground.

This way he spent a second night in the forest: sitting on a branch, his back to the trunk of the tree, dreaming for the end of this endless journey.

In the morning when it seemed that he would never find what he was looking for, the river flowed somewhere into the ground, and right before him a railroad appeared. Oh how delighted he was in that moment! He was ready to kiss the rails from the wave of happiness that covered him. At once he had energy to move on. Truly, how little a person needs to be happy!

It was much easier to continue his journey down the railroad, than through the forest snowdrifts. There was unusual easiness in his feet, and Oscar kept thinking that he was racing down the rails like an express - he was winged. Iron rails were mostly going forward and without noticing it the man began counting his steps. This tactics was quite effective, as he found out: quick walk made him warm, and counting didn’t let him lose the pace. In the end, he worked out his own “methodics”: found 5 coins in his possession and started putting it one by one from one pocket into another when he had gone 100 steps. In some time all coins were all in one pocket, and he treated himself to a piece of bread in his backpack and to a small break before resuming his journey.

In such a manner in less than 4 hours he reached an unknown small village with 5 houses and asked one elderly couple to stay for the night. They were kind enough to let him in and even feed him, though they hardly had enough food for themselves. Thanks to their kind hearts and open soul, Oscar finally had a chance to sleep in warmth and to restore some of his energy. Without forgetting to thank the couple with all his heart, he left their house the next morning, and by afternoon reached the city called Romansburg. The monastery wasn’t at a stone’s throw, and the man was full of determination.

But the closer he came to the monastery, the more doubts he had.  _ What if it was all in vain and I won’t find anything there that might help me remember? What if this whole journey was useless? _

These thoughts threw him in heat and cold, and no matter how hard he tried to fight them off, they still tormented him. He had to think of a retreat plan in case of a failure, but nothing came to him. Just emptiness.

And so he was standing before a huge vertical wall, looking up and full of anticipation, and behind him there was a bustling city of Romansburg. To his right he heard a splash of water, but paid it no attention - he was too absorbed in his thoughts. Somewhere from upstairs a rope with a handle was hanging. It almost said, “come on, pull me.”

Oscar breathed in, pressed his lips in determination. Even in his most unthinkable nightdreams he could hardly imagine what would happen to him upstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Male Monastery close to Romansburg. February 4, same year. Half past 12 in the afternoon.**

A monk put the mechanism in motion - a row of gears, that smoothly and tirelessly rotated, doing their job conscientiously, like everything in this monastery - and the creaking elevator slowly and gradually went down. There, it made the first half of the way, then a half and a third and finally it stopped before the man that awaited downstairs. The doors flung open, inviting him to enter and go up.

To be truthful, this elevator made Oscar feel contradictorily. On one hand, he couldn’t fail to notice the skilful work of a clever mechanism, but on the other - the cabin of the elevator, hanging over the abyss, didn’t seem credible. He didn’t have a choice however. Mastering his fear, he stepped inside and the doors slammed closed at once, as if they have been waiting for it. There was a light push and he heard a low noise of the humming mechanism.

The trip upstairs was terribly long, or so it seemed to Oscar, who felt absolutely helpless, stuck in a confined iron box. He closed his eyes even though there was no need in it. It was quite dark inside the elevator anyway. He kept poking through the cache in his pocket, tinkling with coins. It distracted him from bad thoughts, but not too much. And finally, the last push, after which the elevator froze and opened the doors from the other side. Oscar quickly left the devilish mechanism, sighing with relief. What sadist had invented this?

The territory of the monastery had already been promising to be huge. Just look at these heavy gray walls, standing still upon the edge of the abyss. Withered last year’s grass, that had escaped the fate of being buried beneath the snowdrifts, covered the stones here and there.

The man decided not to hurry, despite his madly beating heart and the flow of energy: in hurry he could miss an important detail, that could push him towards enlightenment. He turned his attention to the monk by the elevator, but he did his best to show that he didn’t know him and wouldn’t talk to him either. Well, he didn’t expect an open armed welcome in this gray walled tenement. After all the time he had spent in the hospital, he realised that religious folk have their own extravagances that were best left alone. Walking a bit further, Oscar noticed something like an oven. There was a cast-iron cauldron with a spout and a cylinder, soldered to it, hanging over scarlet fire. What this was for one could only guess. 

There was a row of neatly placed logs under the stove in a special niche, and next to it there was a picturesque heap of dry branches of varied thickness. For kindling, it appeared. No memories or even hints visited Oscar at such a sight, and he quickly lost interest in the oven, moving towards the main square. Thick layers of clouds and dark arches slowly flew over his head. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

He met another monk on his way, that distractedly bumped a hay wheelbarrow somewhere.

“Excuse me…” he tried to address the monk, but he only muttered something under his breath, fully absorbed in his job, and walked past.

_ Yes, it won’t be easy to learn anything _ , thought Oscar discontentedly. But it was too early to despair, and the man just sighed heavily, filling his thoughts with hope and returning his good mood.

The bell ringing echoed around and fell silent. The monks, scattered all over the square as black dots, started walking towards one door, which apparently led inside the church itself. At once everyone abandoned their work and wordlessly obeyed this “call”. From the side it looked, to put it mildly, frightening and eerie, and at some point even reminded him of the ratcatcher and his rodents, following the sound of his flute.

Hardly two minutes passed when the square and its attached streets emptied. Oscar was completely alone, lost and not understanding what just happened. He even thought that he himself was the reason for such a life disappearance around him.  _ Did they get scared of me? _

Such a thought seemed awkward and ridiculous to him, so he threw it out of his mind.

_ Why would they be afraid of me? I am not afraid of them. _

Lingering, Oscar discarded the idea of following the monks. They were too strange and spoke too little, so they’d hardly be kind to him, if he started distracting them from their work. He walked around a bit more and discovered a graveyard, enveloped in a cloud of mist, gloom and eternal sleep. He couldn’t stay too long there, and had no reason to - one couldn’t really talk to the deceased.

His fingers started freezing, he wanted to warm up somewhere and think his plan over. Perhaps, he should have tried to find the prior and asked him about himself. “Excuse me, would you happen to know who I am?” A stupid question, of course, but he couldn’t come up with anything better. Leaving the place of comfort for bodies and souls, Oscar turned right to the nearest door, opened it with an effort and slipped into much needed warmth.

Semidark room met him with the smell of incense, mould and musty paper. From the first minutes, even without looking at the shelves on the walls, he realised it was a library. Quite an unusual one, he had to admit, especially with its spiral stairs, making it look like a medieval tower, where a princess usually awaits her savior.

Fearing to disrupt the inmost silence, the man quietly began ascending the stairs, looking down from time to time and studying the christian cross, laid with tiles on the floor. Long line crossed the short one, creating the infamous symbol of faith. It was curious, that the monastery crosses looked slightly different. They seemed to have roundings on the ends and from distance they looked like a clover. His memory brought up sister Anastasia’s stud, that reminded him of a latin “x” because of its equal ends. Perhaps, it was somehow connected to the hospital itself and its functions as a clinic. Or maybe it had a far deeper meaning… 

In any case, the man was quite far from the ideas of faith and didn’t go deep in thoughts about it. He already had enough to think about, making his way upstairs.

Suddenly somewhere from up top a quiet noise reached him. Oscar froze and listened carefully. The noise repeated louder, it seemed that someone was turning the pages and looking for something. His heart started beating unnaturally mad, and he could hear its beating in his ears. The man swallowed nervously, trying to get rid of a lump in his throat - he failed - and again, even quieter, he went forward. By his left side he could see the end of the spiral stairs, and the paper noise grew louder and clearer, but now there was also quiet muttering with it. Oscar squinted and tried to find the source of the noise in the semidarkness of the library - there, a monk was bending next to one of the racks, searching for something within the rows of books. There were several manuscripts by the monk’s feet, and some strange rolls of yellowish paper, looking like schemes.

_ How strange, I thought all the monks left. Perhaps, this one didn’t hear the bell ringing? Though how could one not hear it, only if you were deaf? _

As soon as Oscar came up close enough to be noticed, the monk became fidgety, thought he tried to conceal it. His hands were shaking and he tried his best to finish his work quicker. Oscar cold bloodedly passed him, asking nothing, but being confused and excited inside.

Reaching the top, the man stood on one spot for a while, watching the monk from the corner of his eye. He was still searching through the same bookshelf. Then he looked into a tiny window and wondered, how high the monastery stood. Romansburg seemed tiny from this spot.

Six or seven minutes passed, and the monk was still busy. But now he started picking up the rolls from the floor and Oscar realised - he’d be gone in a moment. Maybe he should follow him? He was suspicious enough…

Suddenly the monk turned around and looked at him. Though his face was concealed beneath the hood and its shadow, the man could distinctly feel his stare. Feverishly and almost automatically Oscar pulled out his mobile phone and pretended to be trying to call someone and not watching the dark figure by the bookshelves. And then he suddenly realised that he looked at 5 even sticks of connection symbol on his screen.

It seemed that height had its advantages.

Well, then why wouldn’t he try to call again?

The monk had already picked all the rolls and pages from the floor and began descending. Oscar chose that very mysterious number “New Contact” and pressed the call button, ready to hear the familiar mechanical voice, but much to his surprise after a few seconds of silence there was an obtuse beep with a lot of interference. It took his breath away, but it was only the first shock of the day. After the second beep he heard another noise, something like a vibration, like a call. No, it  _ was _ a call. But hold on, where was it coming from? Oscar moved the phone away from his ear and listened in. The call seemed to be close, a few meters away. Looking closely, he noticed the monk, holding papers in one hand and searching for something in the folds of his clothing with the other. 

It’s his phone! A monk’s phone?

“Oi!” he shouted and dashed down the stairs. The monk panicked and ran for the exit. His phone kept breaking the silence.

“Hey, hold on! Stop!” Oscar shouted loudly, following the escapee and pressing the dismissing button on his phone. _ It’s him, the “New Contact”! I’ve been looking for him, he knows me! I mustn’t let him go! _

The man couldn’t believe his own guesses, but it was more than obvious. This monk had been the only connecting link, the only thread to his lost past. Now he had to do everything to catch up.

Practically in three jumps Oscar reached the exit, considerably reducing the distance between the monk and himself. The latter had a problem running away while wearing a cassock and holding a stack of papers, so he only had a chance to push the heavy door, when the man grabbed his sleeve. They were in a struggle and in its process Oscar got quite a few sharp hits in his stomach, but despite pain, he held his catch in a firm grip.

Finally, with enormous effort, the man managed to twist the monk, holding his hands. Rolls of paper and pages with manuscripts flew all around, covering the floor planks. A small round candle holder, standing on a barrel-like stool by the door, staggered.

With a harsh movement Oscar turned the monk around, pulled down his hood and froze in amazement, staring at the “New Contact”.  _ A woman?! I thought this was a male monastery! _

“You are a woman!” 

It was all he managed to say, when she grabbed the candleholder from the stool and whacked her pursuer across the face, hitting his nose.

Oscar fell on the floor after such an unexpected turn, and the woman grabbed all the papers and ran out of the library.

Appearing in an empty street, the young woman dashed across the square, but to her frustration the church doors flung open and the monks followed outside into the fresh air, looking around perplexedly. Someone noticed an unexpected guest and hurried to report to the prior. Or she thought so.

She hardly managed to throw back her hood to conceal her appearance, when someone’s strong arms encircled her and dragged her in the hall of dark church cells. It was so sudden that she simply lacked time and reaction to fight off.

“Let me go right now!” she yelled, forgetting that she could be revealed.

“Calm down! I’m trying to help you here,” someone said in a nervous and abrupt, but quiet male voice, releasing its victim. The woman turned around.

“It’s you again!” the darkness was hiding their faces, but she had no trouble recognizing her “savior’s” appearance. He was standing with his jacket’s sleeve on his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. “Got too little last time? Stop following me, I don’t need any help, especially from you.”

Her voice went quiet.

“Yes, it’s exactly what I understood when you froze right in the middle of the male monastery square. For them you are like a red rag to the bull. Why did you come here anyway?”

“None of your business,” the woman snapped. “You don’t look like a monk either. Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I must ask you about it.”

“What do you mean?” she wondered.

“We know each other!” he was losing his temper.

“I’ve never seen you before!”

“Neither have I!” he exclaimed in resentment and fell silent.

“Be quiet. Is it a joke or you are actually insane?” she asked and noticed that the prior appeared on the square. Damn, she swore in her mind, and started untying the belt of her cassock.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, looking around in agitation.

She didn’t respond, but placed all her papers to the side, pulled the cassock over her head and spread it on the floor, arms to the sides. Lying on the floor limply, the cassock reminded him of a crucifix. The man was lost in ideas of what this woman had thought of. She placed the rolls onto the cassock and tied them with the sleeves, pushed the hem of the clothing into the holes and tied the sleeves around her waist in a tight knot. It looked like a backpack, stuffed with yellowish papers. It didn’t look reliable, but could work for one time use. The rest of the manuscripts she rolled and crammed in her bosom.

“What are you doing?” he repeated.

“Moving to plan B.”

On the other side of the square the prior was loudly talking to one of the monks, and then decidedly started walking towards the church cells.

“Which plan?” he asked in nervous anticipation.

“This one,” she said curtly and, jumping skillfully over the fence, dividing the cell hall and the streets, she dashed across the square, almost knocking off the confused prior.

“Stop them!” she heard his order. What did he mean by “them”? Her fears were justified, when she looked around to see her follower running behind her.

_ Good Lord, will this psycho never leave me? _

Unfortunately, however much she didn’t wish it, it wasn't the worst trick of heavens. The monks blocked the escape route and they didn’t seem to have good intentions. Thankfully they weren’t taught to stop the blasphemers by force, running at them with a breakneck speed, so neither the woman nor the man had any trouble to simply push one of the monks to the side. And now the “criminal couple” ran shoulder to shoulder down the ice pavement past the gray walls towards the elevator. The rescue seemed near.

“No!” the woman shouted in despair.

Oscar didn’t understand at first, what she was so scared of, when he realised that the monk, responsible for the elevator mechanism, started the gears to lower the elevator. Now it will take ages for the elevator to go down and come back.  _ They’ll seize us faster _ , was the terrible fleeting thought in his head.

They stopped by the strange oven, the one that the man saw earlier. The monk backed to the window in confusion. Oscar looked around, to see the black silhouettes appearing from behind the turn one by one. Hold on, where was the reckless woman? For a second she dropped out of his range. The man started frantically looking around for her and found her by the mechanism. She stood with her hand swung back, which was holding a stick (probably from the kindling heap). The next moment she thrust the stick into the mechanism gears. The machinery squealed, as if crying for help, and the elevator stopped three meters away from the beginning of its trip.

A loud fearsome voice of the prior could be heard behind.

Without thinking for long, the woman squatted and jumped into the abyss before Oscar’s shocked eyes. He could only open his mouth, staring at the trembling cable of the elevator.

_ And she calls me insane? She is crazy! _

Sitting on top of the elevator in an awkward position and holding onto the ledge of the mechanism, the woman looked up to see her stick half broken. It seemed that her weight wasn’t enough to break it fully and to allow the mechanism to work again. There was motion on top and soon her pursuer’s head appeared over the cliff, glancing from her face to the gears.

“If you want to live, jump!” she shouted.

“Oh, no way!” he said in distrust. “If you allow me, I’d stay here.”

“These people won’t sort out who is wrong or right. In the best case, they’ll kindly make a coffin for you. Come on, jump!”

“Jump? There? It’s dangerous! I… I… I can’t!” he started stammering.  _ She wants me dead… _

The two monks were confidently approaching him. What was even worse, they seemed bigger than Oscar.

“Here. Now!” the woman commanded hysterically.

“Alright, alright…”

He breathed out several times and just like the woman, he squatted and jumped off the stone floor, leaving the prior and his followers in confusion.

The landing was rough and unpleasant, but it worked: the stick broke and the elevator continued its descent. The man tightened his grasp on the elevator ledges and prayed for this madness to be over soon. The woman was holding him by the collar, since he had almost fallen off the roundish roof.  _ It wasn’t too bad inside, he admitted to himself. _

Oscar thought that a whole eternity had passed when the elevator finally slowed down, touched the ground and opened with its usual creak. His body was in such tension, that it failed to obey his brain’s order and the man couldn’t make himself leave the wretched elevator and come down to the ground - he was shaking with fear.

Unlike him, the woman had no problem going down the metal wall and the next moment she was face to face with a plump monk, pressing a stack of wet cassocks to his chest. Perhaps, the elevator was meant for him.

_ Look who is here _ , the woman thought, hiding a smile.

“Good day,” she said politely and cocking her nose up she started walking down a narrow path.

“God bless…” he crossed himself in fear, obviously recognizing the woman, and continued wailing in Latin.

Oscar finally regained his ability to move. Slowly and with groaning he slid down the elevator roof, also facing the monk a second later.

“My God!” he exclaimed and crossed himself again. “Tu, Augusto? Hanc tu adiuves?! Absit omen.”*

_ * Is that you, August? Are you helping this woman? Let it not be a bad omen. _

“I beg your pardon?” asked Oscar.

“It’s the birds’ language. To understand it, one needs more than desire,” smiled the monk slyly and smirked.

_ What’s he on about? _ Wondered Oscar. In the meantime, the monk squeezed into the elevator, turned around and nodded.

“Nothing escapes the Maker’s eye,” then the elevator doors slammed and it slowly ascended to where the gray walls and black-clothed men were, looking like transparent shadows.

***

The woman was going down the hill path, lost in her own thoughts. Now that the prior had screwed up her second attempt of sacrilege, the way to the monastery had been forever closed to her. Looking for trouble for the third time was at least stupid. And she still had a lot to look at, it couldn’t hurt to come back…

But the cassock trick wouldn’t work again, she knew it only too well. The prior was fanatic and stubborn when it came down to faith, but he wasn’t stupid not to take measures. The woman caught herself thinking that she wouldn’t be too surprised if the new monastery’s lex would include not only a quick look over upon arrival, but the revealing of the face too. And it’s in the best case scenario.

She stopped and untied the sleeves, relieving herself from the burden. The improvised backpack worked well: all the precious papers were in place. The woman took the rolls under her arm and shivered when she heard quick steps behind her.

“I see you don’t give up easily, right?” she looked at the man skeptically, that tried to catch his breath, bending over and leaning on his knees. She wanted to continue walking, but remembered something. “Why did you call me? It was you, wasn’t it.”

It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Oscar had nothing to say about it, because it was so spontaneous. And he himself had no idea how this crazy woman’s number turned up in his phone. He had hoped that everything would become clear when he found the “New Contact” person, but now it was even more confusing, covered with a deadly-white fog.

“How did you get my number?” she insisted on some sort of answer.

“I don’t know,” he replied in annoyance.

“How can you not know?” she resented.

“But I really don’t! I can’t remember,” now he straightened up and their eyes met. The darkness stayed there, upstairs, and here, in broad daylight, among snowdrifts and light fog, he could see her face, could drown in the twinkling of her brown eyes. Only in a few seconds he remembered that he could talk.

“Look,” he began carefully, fearing the woman’s unpredictability, “I woke up half a month ago in a hospital far from here. I didn’t remember anything, not even my own name. They helped me, one could say they put me back on my feet, gave me my belongings, among which I found this phone with your damn number in contacts. I had no idea who I was calling. I decided, that the only hope…”

“Why did you go to the monastery?” the woman frowned in distrust.

“I saw it on a picture. The place seemed familiar,” he sighed.

“How did you get here?”

“Well, first I walked down the flow of the river in the forest, then down the railroad.”

“You went down the railroad by foot?” she was surprised.

“Well, sadly, I had no train with me,” he shrugged.

She stared at him in a very strange manner, then turned around and continued walking down the path.

“Wait,” he ran after her. “Are you sure you don’t know me?”

“No,” she said after a short pause.

There was awkward silence between them. Oscar continued walking behind his new acquaintance, staring at her back and trying all over again to remember her image in his mind, but it was too blurred. As if water was spilled on an ink written page.  _ She said she doesn’t know me _ , he started thinking it over,  _ but her number is in my phone. Maybe, this is not my phone? And if it’s mine, how could I get her number? Did someone give it to me? But why? What could I need from her and why wasn’t it named, just a “New contact”? _

He got a headache from all these snowball-like gathering questions. In the end, the best decision was to question the woman carefully, risking to learn out all the details.

“You speak English well. With no accent whatsoever,” he broke the silence.

“I’m American,” the woman said squeamishly, as if it was her disadvantage.

“American? What are you doing so far from home?” he asked suspiciously, rather than surprised.

“I was traveling.”

“Traveling?” he smirked. “Of course…”

The woman stopped abruptly and turned around, throwing a meaningful and disapproving look at Oscar. He had nothing else to do but to raise his hands guiltily, reporting the “unconditional surrender”.

“If you wish, my trip was quite unexpected, but I don’t regret it one bit. And it’s absolutely not connected to my visit to the monastery.”

“Yes, I understand you perfectly,” he said and cleared his throat. He decided to change topic. “By the way, those monks… they wouldn’t follow us, would they?”

The woman looked quickly at the monastery over Oscar’s shoulder. A content smile appeared on her lips.

“They are too cowardly to even poke their noses out.”

“And the prior?”

“His power holds on the laws that he and his God invented. If he leaves the walls of his monastery, he will be no more than a preacher.”

“Are you certain?”

It was woman’s turn to smile slyly. Yes, she was certain that there would be no chase.

“You are not very courageous,” she noted, resuming her walking, going down and down, where they heard water splashing.

“This is the way I am, miss.”

They reached the foot of the mountain, where the monastery stood, and immediately the still quiet of nature and the tinkling of river was broken by sonant, happy dog barking. There was a dog team, “parked” next to a tall fence. In fact, not a dog one, as Oscar learnt out later, but a sleigh with a youki team, strange animals, looking like a mix of a white bear, a seal and something else.

“Have you arrived here by this means of travel?” he stared at the woman, who was happily scratching the main youki.

“I don’t like walking down the railroad by foot,” she replied lightly.

Noticing Oscar, the dog started barking happier and louder, trying to free itself from the leash to run towards the man.

“What’s up with him?” Oscar started back.

“I think he likes you,” the woman said and laughed, holding the youki back.

Her laughter made Oscar feel warmer, despite the madness they went through. He didn’t notice how his own lips formed a smile. Having calmed the dog down, the woman put her precious paper rolls in a bag in the back of the sleigh, then she looked at her pursuer and smiled in return.

“Where are you going now?” he asked.

“Oh, you aren’t thinking that I’ll take you with me, are you?”

“Why not? I helped you escape - I could help in something else.”

“Helped? If it were not for you, I wouldn’t have needed to escape at all,” there was no limit to her resentment.

“But… you… I don’t remember anything, you are my last hope!” he almost begged, watching her prepare for the departure and checking on the sleigh.

“Sorry, I’d love to help, but I really have never met you before,” she said compassionately, fixing the bag in the sleigh and tying the ropes.

“I have nowhere to go!”

“There’s a couple of good people in this town. They will help you, I think.”

“But with you I might remember!”

“You haven’t remembered anything in the monastery, why would you remember anything with me now?”

Oscar fell silent with nothing to say. He felt doomed again, lost to this world. He stared at the woman’s nape, thinking hard about what could change her mind. In the meantime, she was done with the ropes, got up from her knees and shook off the snow from her clothes.

“But somehow I remembered my name, so there is a small chance…” he said casually.

“I am sure that it’s french. You have a small french accent. Maybe, Joseph or George…” she reasoned, trying to divert the conversation and leave faster, and to relieve herself from the burden of another’s life and memory. She almost stepped into the sleigh when the man blurted out:

“Oscar. Actually, my name is Oscar. Or at least I think so.”

This statement made her freeze for whole half a minute.

“Sit.”

“What?” he thought he misheard her.

“Come on, sit down before I change my mind. And don’t crumple the papers.”

Oscar happily hurried to the sleigh, taking his backpack off and wondering the woman’s change of heart. Though he couldn’t really complain. Settling in his place among things and wrapping up warmer, he threw his head back a bit.

“Who do I have the honour to talk to?”

“Kate. Kate Walker.”

“Nice to meet you, Kate Walker,” he said before the woman shouted something to the dogs. The sleigh darted off and disappeared in the snowy fields.


	6. Chapter 6

**In the forest close to Romansburg. October 12, 7 years earlier. 2.15 PM.**

The railroad leaving the “last bastion of civilization” was going far off for whole 4 kilometers, then it broke off under the muffled sounds of working instruments over the pebble mound. There were few workers, about 30 men, some were very short, but still did their job over and above. Others were only wondering where these men had their energy from.

Because of the lack of working hands, each one had to work for three to finish work in time. Complaints weren’t accepted, orders weren’t discussed. This was local nature and everyone understood it without words. Apart from the russian-ised tribes of the north, there have also been army Russians, ex-prisoners and just people, who didn’t pity their health, energy and time, wasted on such hard, dirty, but quite important work.

Behind the workers, on the already built rails, there was a strange device, looking like a crane and an ugly bird at the same time. On the attached platform there were evenly stacked lonely rails, that were soon to become a path to someone’s dream.

3 hits on something heavy notified the workers about the long desired break, and all the exhausted men dispersed around. Someone prefered to sit in a circle of friends and eat something, others prefered solitude, enjoying their cigarette and wandering the forest, studying the crooked pine trees.

“The brass is paying a visit soon,” said a broad shouldered man to his thin buddy. They were standing by the rail platform, leaning on it and smoking handmade cigarettes. “They’ll be watching our work…”

“Do you think they’ll pay?” smirked the thin man.

“Dog knows. Maybe, they will… Work is on, and we are head in head with the plan,” shrugged the man.

“Like in good ole days, eh?” his friend smiled. “A plan… What is this plan, eh? Won’t make it till the snowstorm. And when it snows on, that’s it… And we have to clean the snow out already. Couldn’t stretch the terms till summer, eh!”

“They say it’s urgent. A matter of urgency, so to say.”

“And most importantly, what’s all this for? Where will these rails lead, towards white death, eh?”

“It’s their business, not ours. Ours is to build. And what they will move along it… Let it be their kings and retinue, let it be the crooks. Personally, I will do my job and then try and catch me out.”

“What do they say themselves?”

“Forest, they say. Allegedly they say they store up and trade wood. In our country it’s like that, either oil and gas or wood,” the man shrugged.

“Ye-eah…” the thin man drawled thoughtfully, scratched his neck, then looked somewhere in the distance. “Eh, look, seems it’s the brass indeed.”

He pointed at the railroad, where a man was walking towards them.

“Doesn’t look like the brass,” he squinted. “Go on, take a walk. Come on.”

His thin friend rewarded him with a displeased glance, but obediently left for the group of the loudly talking workers.

“Good day,” the young man said, approaching the man.

“Right back at ye,” he replied.

“Are you building that streak o’ rust here?”

“That we do, that we do,” the man nodded and looked at the stranger slyly with his dark eyes. “And you must have come for a job then?”

“Aye, for it,” sighed the young man, hunched, his lips pressed together.

“Nah, don’t fret,” grinned the man. “Everyone here is just like you. Needed a job or came here out of despair. Everyone is taken, just wait for the brass. They rule here, not I.”

“Thank you. I’ll wait.”

“Huh?” the man offered the young man a handmade cigarette, pulling it out of the pocket. “My name is Vladimir, by the way, but they call me Volodya here, or “White”.”

“August,” the man introduced himself, accepted the cigarette and kindly shook Vladimir’s hand. “Why “White”?”

“That’s my surname… And you’ve got one hell of a name!” said Vladimir, lighting August’s cigarette up.

There was an unclear noise, the rails shook lightly as if something was going down them with a considerable speed.

“Ah, there’s the brass for you,” smiled the man, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “Lucky you.”

August stared at the approaching dot and took a drag off the cigarette. Looked like a trolley. And indeed, in no less than five minutes, he could confirm his guess. The mechanism approached almost to touch the rail-piled platform and slowed down with a squeak, returning the silence of the forest.

A tall man of about 40 years old was at the controls of the trolley. He was dressed in an expensive coat, a white collar of his shirt was peeking out in a rather formal fashion. He also had spectacles, leather gloves and a cap with ears. He looked respectful, had a military bearing. From the first glance it was clear that it was a man of determination and success in all his matters, both of business and family. Next to him was his complete opposite: a short elderly man, hunched, with a shock of white hair and bright clear eyes, full of energy, despite his old age.

The man in the coat rose from the seat and heavily stepped down on the ground, then helped the older man go down. Then both of them walked indifferently past August and Vladimir, who were watching them closely, retreating further and further to where the workers made a camp.

“That’s the brass?” the young man was surprised.

“Yeah,” nodded the man. “Now they’ll go to Mikhailovich to ask about progress: is everything done in time, is anyone loitering and stuff like that. Then they’ll go to look over the railways, and you go to them at once. Tell them, that you need a job, that you’re ready to work day and night. They’ll happily take you, don’t worry.”

The sky had been gradually covered with gray clouds, hinting on an upcoming snowstorm.

“Winter is near…” Vladimir mumbled absentmindedly.

***

**Youkols village. January 6, 200*. 2 hours past midnight.**

Pressing an object, wrapped in rough burlap fabric, a woman went up the stairs, leading into the shaman’s hut. She carefully opened the door and stepped in the darkness. A strong rough smell of some herb hit her nose; the whole room was wrapped up in a strange green fog, through which pieces of furniture could be distinguished.

“Ah, miss Walker,” shaman’s voice was heard somewhere from the left. Now the woman could recognize her silhouette among others. ‘Did you bring it?”

“Yes, I have it here,” Kate replied quietly, feeling unusual coldness in her fingers.

“Good, very good, took-toot,” the shaman said her usual phrase.

“Are you sure this will work out?” Kate asked with a grain of salt.

“The soul will only return if it wishes to,” said the shaman mysteriously and gestured for Kate to sit on the bunk. The woman obeyed, forcing down all the waves of worry, washing over her body.

“You have good reasons to doubt,” said the shaman firmly, putting candles around the room and lighting up strange dried leaves over them. Greenish smoke was rushing upwards in a thin stream, but finding no way out, it froze up at the ceiling.

“How do you know?” asked the woman without a hint of surprise.

“Miss Kate Walker can’t have no doubts. Miss Kate Walker has a heart.”

“Yes, I do. You told me yourself to bring…”

She didn’t have a chance to finish as the shaman took the little burlap bundle out of her hands and shoved a candle in them instead, snarling in a displeased manner.

“No, not this one. This one!” she pointed with her short crooked finger at Kate’s chest. Then she placed the wrapped object in the center of the bunk and frowned. “Need one more thing.”

“Thing?” repeated Kate, starting to fear all this supernatural nitty-gritty, though it seemed who, but her, could be more used to it by now.

“Yes, a special thing. For which the soul would want to return. Do you know what your friend is ready to return for?”

There was a pause, during which the two women looked at each other through the translucent smoke. Darkness scratched in the corners, sometimes on the floor planks. An owl, sitting somewhere on the roof, hooted. Kate knew that it wasn’t alone there. She felt that all the spirits of the night flew down to this hut, where two people were risking to step over the limits of the permissable, dooming their souls for eternal torment. A dozen of white owls, sitting around on the perches, on the fence and the roof, were, perhaps, the only ones who were on the women’s side. And while the keepers were kind to her, bravery wouldn’t leave her.

Kate pulled a tiny object, easily fitting her palm, out of her pocket. Lingering for a moment, she handed it over to the shaman, and the old woman nodded with a smile.

“Ah, miss Kate Walker. We know it’s exactly what you want to give. Are you sure, this will do?” she wagged her finger meaningfully. “There is only one try.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Kate breathed out.

“You have another thing. It will work better.”

“No. It has to be this one.”

The shaman didn’t object, she just laughed quietly. It seemed, that it was exactly what she was hoping for from her guest. She carefully freed the wrapped up object on the bunk, then climbed in her high throne-like chair and took a tambourine in her hands with the most serious look. Everything was ready for the ritual.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asked for the last time.

“There’s no way back,” said Kate, holding onto the candle in her hand, as if it were her only salvation.

The first muffled sound of the tambourine spread in the hut with such a noise, that it seemed the heavens have broken down and two huge owl eyes were looking reproachfully down from up there.


	7. Chapter 7

**A hunter’s hut in the forest, close to Romansburg. February 5, 200*. About 7 PM.**

“ _ Here are your feet, Oscar. I hope they fit _ ,” he heard in his sleep. Feet?

The man was woken up by dreary wind howling. It went right through the thinning roof, around the rotten ceiling structure, forcing its way to freedom. The storm was raging outside, drowning everything in dense darkness. Windows were shaking from the pressure of snow and ice, hitting them, as if begging to be let inside.

There was dim fire in the fireplace, counterweighting the white storm in the only room that still had good walls. It served as a living room. Fire warmth wasn’t enough to make the whole house heated, but it was well enough to keep two people warm, waiting for the storm to end.

The man got up from the holey sofa, hearing and feeling how the springs creaked under the upholstery. A bear’s skin, sprawled all over the floor, was looking at him slyly with empty eyes, its mouth opened angrily. Oscar shivered and wrapped up warmer in a plaid, that served him as a blanket before. For several minute he simply stared at the dance of fire flames, that licked charred embers.

There was a strange noise in the kitchen: it seemed that someone was bustling about in there. Listening in, the man slowly got up and holding onto the sofa’s back, moved towards the kitchen uncertainly, trying to see someone in there. There were candles on the kitchen surface, and on the rectangle wooden table, on the windowsill and shelves. They served as the only light source, apart from the fireplace.

A hardly visible female shape was standing as a dark silhouette by the rusty sink. It was separated from the cold darkness of the room and the purple cloudy sky outside by tiny soft yellowish light. There were a lot of candles around her. They looked like a flock of fireflies in the dense grass. The shape moved a bit, and Oscar froze, but the woman didn’t turn around. She didn’t hear his quiet steps through the wind howling in the attic. Then he came closer and closer - and the floor plank creaked to betray his presence. The woman grabbed a candle and turned around abruptly, lighting up both of their faces.

“Oh my God, it’s you. You scared me,” she said quietly, looking down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he replied calmly, watching the flame light freeze on her face or play with orange glint when she breathed.

Kate looked back at the sink, returning the candle to its place.

“How long have I slept?” Oscar asked, wishing to stay.

“Almost a day,” she said, turning her head just a bit.

“And you, Kate Walker?”

“A bit less. This storm has exhausted us both,” she took a can-opener and continued opening a can with stew. “Are you hungry?”

“I think I am,” he said after a short pause.

“I hope you like canned food. There’s nothing else here.”

“And what’s that?” he pointed at the bucket at her feet.

“Fish for youki,” it was obvious that Miss Walker was burdened with this conversation, but Oscar had no idea why. He could only watch her both gloomy and light image at the same time and wonder about the reasons of her actions.

By that time the woman, having finished opening the cans, decided to wash her hands. She scooped up some water from a nearby aluminium bowl, and water lit up with many scarlet flares of the candles, as if it turned into lava. Water tinkled loudly in the metal bowl.

“I dreamt of you. I remember your voice,” he supposed that the woman would say something, but she didn’t even lift her brow. He went on, “I have no idea what it means, Kate Walker, but you kindly offered me… feet in this dream. You said…”

To his surprise, the woman grabbed the fish bucket without hearing him to the end and went towards the exit. He hurried to block the door, feeling, that she was hiding something.

“Step aside,” she muttered in annoyance without looking up.

“You haven’t listened to all I have to say,” he insisted. “In the dream you said…”

“I know what I said!” she said loudly, looked at the man decidedly and then, as if recollecting herself, looked away, past him.

“I think you deliberately keep something back from me.”

“Your assumption is wrong,” she said dryly. “Now step aside.”

And she tried to free her way again.

“No,” he said firmly. “ I won’t go until you tell me all you know.”

“I know nothing.”

“Look at me.”

“I know nothing!” Kate insisted on proving it more to the wall, than to Oscar. Her voice was ready to become hysterical.

The man regarded her heavy uneven breathing, noticing how the wind was playing along with it, howling somewhere in the attic within the roof. He himself could feel how he was becoming this wind, begging for salvation and freedom.

“Why did you change your mind, when you heard my name?

The woman kept silent. Her eyes were glassy and indifferent, but her lips flinched, as if she forced a stone mask on her face.

“Who am I?” Oscar asked his final main question, not hoping for any answer.

Slowly, very slowly, Kate moved her glance from the wall and, finally, braved a look directly in his eyes. For a second her features softened, but just for a second.

“I. Don’t. Know,” she said it syllable by syllable. “Now, there are hungry dogs outside. May I go and feed them?”

Oscar had nothing left but to step aside, letting the woman leave.

“There is a storm outside. Do be careful,” he said, when Kate opened the door and let in cold wind and white snow.

“As always…” she stopped short and left, allowing the darkness and the white haze of snow engulf her.

***

The man stood rooted to the spot for some time more, then sat on a sofa heavily with a sigh, frowning. Despite firm and convincing replies from Miss Walker, Oscar wasn’t certain of her rightness. This argument between them… It occurred to him, that neither knows the truth, so there was no need in proving it. Each one wanted to say only what they thought was right: Oscar presumed that Miss Kate and himself were acquainted, while she denied it as much as she could. There wasn’t any hint of lie in her words, he felt it quite clearly, but he also felt that she had doubts or no knowledge and certainty. Perhaps, this was what she was trying to convey. In this case, her words “I don’t know” took a whole new turn.

_ If only I could remember! _ He felt desperate. Perhaps then everything would be right, back in its place.

The man leaned on his knees with his arms, and put his hands under his chin. He stared thoughtfully into the fire, made a deep sigh and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the little of memories he had. His head began hurting at once.

_ I need to push off of what I already know _ , he thought,  _ and stop looking for the unknown. _

Looking around, he found his backpack, got up and picked it up from the floor, placing it by his side on the sofa. He unzipped it and pulled out his leather wallet, then the receipt from the shop (the very one that had his phone code). He found a stub of a pencil, crossed the numbers and wrote other ones: Kate Walker’s phone number. Then, after some thinking, he wrote her full name, then his own. But it wasn’t enough. In half a minute he wrote down the word “monastery”. He stared at all these letters and numbers for long time, hoping that something would stir his memory. Right before the woman’s return, he thought of something else and scribbled it down on the paper, then leaned back on the sofa, scratching his neck.

***

Miss Kate Walker, having escaped outside in the middle of a storm, felt relieved despite the weather. It was extremely hard to be by her companion’s side. All because of her past, that scratched at her soul like cats. How unfair! She had just come to terms with her loss, when fate started playing its cruel games again. Or, perhaps, it was the price? The price for what she tried to do?

_ I’m strong,  _ she reassured herself _ , Oscar is just a popular name, all the rest is my fantasy and imagination. I must not give in. _

“Just a fantasy,” she said out loud, firmly and loudly, but her voice drowned in the snow whirlwind. “It’s not him.”

Walking to the other side of the house, the woman turned around and entered a small annexe, reminding her of an old barn. The youki were awaiting their well deserved dinner. In no less than a minute the animals happily munched down the fish without chewing and laid down side by side for a sleep. Their thick fur wouldn’t have let them freeze in this terrible snowy night. If there was someone Kate wasn’t afraid for, it was for them.

The woman looked at their cute faces and black noses, that they poked in their fur or paws, and she wondered, how nice it must be to have a faithful friend. The one that she could turn to and hide her face in his embrace, fall asleep, forgetting all about the storm and the cold. About all the hardships and difficulties. She’d have to think of nothing else, but enjoy the endless bliss of life, often so short. A smile fleetingly touched her lips, and determination fixed itself in her heart.

***

Having returned to the living room, Kate found the man sleeping quietly on the sofa, his hands crossed on his chest and his head down. She tried to get in the kitchen as quietly as possible, but Oscar heard her. He opened his eyes, stretched and yawned. Soon, the woman appeared before him, holding a stew can.

“Here, take it,” she kindly gave him the food, and the man, in his turn, didn’t refuse it. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

She sat in an armchair by sofa’s left side, where Oscar was sitting.

“And I’m sorry for my behavior. Especially for your nose.”

Nose? He touched it. Oh, but of course, she whacked him with a candle holder in the monastery.

“It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” said Oscar and started on his can. “You’ve got a good punch.”

Kate couldn’t hide a smile. She didn’t hurry to start eating, but simply sat there, thinking over her stew portion. The man looked at her long fingers, gripping on the stew can. They were white and fragile, compared to the can’s cold solid metal. He couldn’t believe how these very fingers held a can-opener just a few minutes ago and opened the cans with no effort. Though he did note in his mind, that they looked impeccable and beautiful.

“You reminded me of a friend.”

Her voice kicked the man out of thoughts, but he thought he misheard her.

“What?”

“That’s why I brought you along,” she spoke, her head turned to the fireplace. “I’m sorry, this is so selfish. I gave you a false hope.”

“Why didn’t you say so before?” He wondered.

Kate said nothing, still watching the dancing flames. The room was filled either with tense or depressed atmosphere.

“But why?” his questions froze in the air, because the woman seemed still unable to answer it. Oscar mumbled in annoyance. “Where is your friend then? Why is he not with you?”

“He passed away,” said Kate after a while, and the man heard her voice falter.

“I’m sorry,” it was his turn to say it. “It’s regrettable.”

He looked at his backpack.

“But are you certain of it, Kate Walker?”

She slowly turned around and stared at him reproachfully.

“Of course.”

The man fell silent, not daring to continue this rather depressing conversation. He wanted to change topic, but changed his mind instead. Now the clouds outside were too heavy and thick to allow any light through them. The storm would go on till morning.

After a while, he did ask her quietly.

“Was he a good man?”

“You cannot even imagine how good,” Kate sighed.

“Then I’m happy I remind you of him,” he said proudly.

The woman looked at him with surprise and their eyes met. Cold and tensity stepped away.

No one said a word again. Each of them finished their stew, then the woman left for the kitchen, and the man laid down on the sofa. Despite having slept for so long before, drowsiness found him again, covering his body as a heavy stone. Ten minutes later Oscar was deep asleep, snoring sometimes.

Kate was also preparing for sleeping. She blew out all the candles, leaving the fireplace lit up. Then she moved an old mattress closer to the fire, that was meant to be her bed for one more night.

The man on the sofa turned on his back and sniffed. Kate, lingering, covered him with a plaid. She noticed a tiny piece of paper, poking out of Oscar’s pocket and almost falling out. First she wanted to push it back, but following the temptation, she pulled it out and unfolded it.

A receipt…

But as she turned the piece of paper over, she found something much more meaningful, than a usual receipt. The last scribble shocked her. How did he know? How? No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible!

Miss Walker, feeling dumb, couldn’t look away from the awkward and uneven writing, that could seem minor to any other person. But not to Kate.

There were two latin letters on the receipt right after her number, XZ and a 4 digit number 2000. These particular letters and numbers deprived her of sleeping for a few hours.

***

In the morning the woman was awaken by her phone. Feeling broken, she went into the kitchen to avoid waking Oscar up.

“Hello?” she said hoarsely.

“Miss Kate Walker, I presume? I didn’t wake you up, did I?” she heard a low calm male voice in her phone.

“No, it’s alright,” she lied.

“Miss Walker, I hope our agreement is still valid. Or I will have to remind you, how beneficial the deal is both for you and for us,” said the man in a formal tone.

The woman stumbled on her words, delaying the answer. She looked in the direction where Oscar was sleeping.

“Miss Walker?” the voice in the phone woke her.

“Yes… yes, of course. I understand. Our agreement remains valid,” she replied, trying to remember long forgotten law vocabulary.

“Wonderful!” the man in her phone said exaltedly. “Then in a few days I’ll be there and we’ll discuss all the details. Of course, you will get a generous compensation for all your work. I assure you, the man I have an honour to work for is one of the most influential men in England, but most importantly he is a very honourable and respectable man. Believe me when I say his knight title is well deserved. So you don’t need to worry about any financial issues, and I give you my word that the object of our cooperation will be in good hands. This I can promise you, Miss Kate Walker. Talk to you soon.”

And the man hang up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Helena Romanski's song is mentioned, however I chose to not translate it into English. So if you see Russian text, it means it's the lyrics of the song.

**The youkols village. January 6, 200*. 3 hours past midnight.**

Blow after blow. Their muffled echoes were heard in all the corners of the small room, smelling with the supernatural world through and through. The world of the dead. It seemed that Death himself rose from the floor and was now hiding under the bed, waiting. Just a bit more time, and he will feel like a God. But the spirits would step away for just one moment, and it would be enough to return something that has no price and needs no description.

Kate heard the harfangs screaming, not even hooting, outside with terror, as if trying to warn against danger. The shaman couldn’t hear them, lost in a trance. She sat upon her chair, her eyes rolled, and was muttering something in her language under the even hitting of the tambourine. Her hands lived another life, and her thoughts were elsewhere.

Kate herself was clenching onto the candle, her eyes closed tight. She prayed for success. She was pierced with terror, the one that finds people at graveyards at night, when they suddenly stumble into their phobias. 

Abruptly the shaman stopped hitting the tambourine and after a moment’s silence, the hut’s roof shook madly from the pressing of the birds, trying to get inside through mammoth skins and bones. The owls were yelling unnaturally loud, dust and soot flew down from the ceiling.

“Don’t let them in!” screamed the shaman, jumping in her chair. “It’s too early!”

Kate flinched, lowered the candle on the floor, grabbed a bowl with some powder and threw a handful in the air through the green smoke. A harsh smell calmed the birds down a bit, repelling them away from the hut, but they’d already damaged the roof. Now ice stalactites could be seen through the holes.

When Miss Walker returned to sit on the edge of the bunk, she could see the green smoke slowly ascending clockwise, spiraling towards the center. The darkness in the corners quivered again, as if coming out to the smell of fried meat. It took unusual shapes, copying furniture, animals, human silhouettes, it imitated voices and sounds. Kate thought she had hallucinations, her head was spinning, everything in her sight divided in two. She rose and stepped back, leaning on the wooden table and smashing several small objects.

“Toona-a-ahn!” sang the shaman, her eyes thrown upwards. Her wrinkled face looked terrifying in the conjunction of cold greenish light of the smoke and the warm gleam of candles. She looked like one of the tribe masks that hang on her wall. “Taboo-ne-e! Kabe-ebe, ole toon-took-ne! A-a-ah-le-e-e!”

Kate felt worse and worse with the shaman’s singing. Everything became heavier, her eyes were closing, but now she had to stay awake. The shaman warned her 2 days ago about it and she added, that it wouldn’t be easy.

_ If you sleep - you die. Don’t sleep! _

“A-ne-kootoo-oo!” the shaman went on, resuming her tambourine hitting, that went faster and faster.

_ “Hans, where are you hiding?” _ Kate heard in her fever, hardly managing to stand on her feet.  _ “I’m here, Anna!” “Quarter after 7 sharp.” “How are you honey?” “I’m afraid we have a mechanical problem, Kate Walker.” “Frank’s dying to meet you!” “What the hell are you up to Kate?“... _

The birds started trying to make their way into the hut again, wildly scratching on the walls and the roof, ripping out whole piece of it.

_ “О-очи чёрные…”  _ the dreams went on. _ “I can't imagine how you could ever forgive me.” “О-очи страстные…” “Missing home, Kate Walker? It’s unlikely you’ll ever return.” “О-очи жгучие…” “Kate Walker!” “… и прекрасные!” _

“I can’t go on anymore!” Kate begged, but the shaman didn’t hear her, still shouting out strange phrases, sounding like enchantments. Having gone to pieces, the woman kneeled, breathing hard.

_ “Ha-ha-ha, no one is getting out!” “Как люблю я вас! Как боюсь я вас!..” “Automatons are constructed to serve men.” “Ha-ha! The ivory is ours!” “Mammoths… Syberia… “ “Знать, увидеть вас…” _

Her auditory hallucinations were now accompanied by the visual ones. Kneeled on the floor, Kate could see child’s feet in small boots. The child bent down, the woman looked up and recognized little Malka. The child smiled sweetly, opened its tiny mouth and suddenly spoke in a hoarse male voice: “Return the hands to me and bring Madame Romanski back or I shall not be responsible for my actions.”

Kate dashed aside, hit something with her shoulder and grabbed her head.

The girl increased in size, turning into an adult male silhouette, that reached out his hand, inviting the woman to go with him: “You know, I’m not a soulless robot. I have been attacked. Don’t forget me!”

_ No, I’m dreaming. It’s just my memories, it’s not him! _

The silhouette approached her, his hand still thrust forward. “You left me in the lurch there at that terrible plant. Kate Walker, I must inform you. Have you wound the train springs up? It’s high time I did something useful…”

The silhouette went on in a much more begging, pitiful voice.

“I’m frozen. The cold has paralyzed my wheelwork, Kate Walker.”

She couldn’t bear it any longer and reached out to touch the darkness. Her thoughts became messed up and fast, as if someone was scrolling through the audio tape.  _ “Where have…” “There isn’t…” “Mammoth…” “How did you… _ _   
_ _ “ “Colone….” At your ser….” “Caref…” “Hello, Kate…” “О-очи чёр…” “See you s…” “Я в недоо-о-обрый ча-а-а-а-а…..!” _

When she had almost reached it, abruptly, like a theatre curtain, the darkness fell. The owls finally managed to get inside, and like a violent tornado or a snowstorm they started destroying everything around. The obscurity stepped back from such a white pressure, and the green smoke descended to the bunk, to where a mechanical heart was and into it. Everything fell quiet as soon as the last bit of the green smoke disappeared in the gears.

Kate woke up to find herself buried under some random junk and dust. Fighting through harsh coughing, she got up and, got to the bunk, staggering.

“Ah, miss Kate Walker. Good, very good, took-toot,” the shaman sat smiling upon her high chair as if nothing had happened.

“How…” the woman swallowed, her voice sounded strangely hoarse. “How did it go?”

“Let me see.”

Kate picked up the heart and handed it over to the elderly woman. Then she sat on the bunk and looked up at the shaman. For several long minutes she said nothing, just held the heart and hovered her hand over it. A feverish hope was shaking the silence. Finally, the shaman looked at Kate and spoke in the most tragic voice.

“No soul. The heart is empty. He did not want to come back.”

Everything inside Kate collapsed and crumbled into the bottomless abyss, like a detached train carriage. Kate lowered her head, accepting her fate.

***

**The youkols village. February 6, 200*. An hour to noon.**

A dog team had been racing through the snowdrifts with wild barking, dashing towards a tall idol, picturing a local deity - the mammoth. A proud white bird was sitting on the statue’s tusk, looking from its height over the white snowy fields.

The dogs turned round an ice snowy hill on the right and dashed forward, to inconspicuous hills. Having stopped by one of them, the youki stopped by the woman’s command, awaiting to run again and moving from paw to paw. Suddenly a tiny man appeared and called the travelers. Kate spoke to him, then returned to her place in the sleigh. She commanded and the dog team turned to run to one of the hills. They approached a small cave entrance and disappeared in there, leaving the white haze outside.

“Where are we?” asked the man in a low whisper, when they slowly traveled through an icy tunnel with low ceiling. He was afraid that his voice might cause the icicles, that dangerously hang on the ceiling, fall.

The small man kept walking in front of them; behind him the dogs followed, whimpering and yelping sometimes.

“In the youkols village,” Kate explained, realising that it hardly told anything to her companion.

“Under the ground?”

“We’ll arrive soon and you’ll see for yourself.”

There was light ahead. Youki were troubled. Oscar leaned forward, squinting from the wave of light.

Indeed, he had to see it for himself. The cave didn’t need any description, one simply couldn’t come up with one good enough. Its own existence was impossible, even though he was there and saw it with his own eyes. It was a separate world, a different universe. He had an unimaginable desire to explore its every corner, to walk under the ice ceiling till late night, enjoying its magical atmosphere.

The dog team stopped by one of the houses, hollowed out of ice and covered with mammoth skin. Kate handed over the control over the dogs to the youkols with gratitude, and they hurried to lead the dogs into the paddock and feed them. Oscar rose from the sleigh and looked around slowly, his mouth wide open.

“Incredible,” he said, while the woman took the plans from her back, reproaching her companion of his clumsiness in her mind. “How did they create this?”

“Come on,” Kate grabbed his arm and dragged down one of the paths, leading to the shaman’s hut.

“Where are we going?”

“I need to talk to someone,” they came close to a pair of huge drums. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be quick. Just don’t go anywhere, I have no wish to look for you all over the village.”

“I won’t leave, Kate Walker,” he promised.

The woman rewarded him with a rather suspicious look and headed towards the hut. As soon as she disappeared, Oscar leaned on a flimsy short fence, sighed heavily and started studying the place curiously. His gaze paused on various curious objects, wooden and bone constructions, until he saw something strange and unnatural, something that stood quite terribly out of the place. When he realised what it was, he had at once forgotten his promise.

Kate walked up the stairs and entered the hut. The shaman wasn’t at her usual place in a chair, but was by a ritual table. Noticing her guest, she smiled.

“Ah, Miss Kate Walker. We are happy to have you here.”

“Thank goodness you are here!” she exclaimed. “ I absolutely need to talk to you about something.”

“Your friend, Kate Walker. You want to talk about him. And this man you brought.”

“How do you know?” Kate sounded surprised.

The shaman laughed and walked to her chair.

“You must be thinking that I’m mad. I think so too... “ she stumbled. “Please, just tell me it’s not him. Please, tell me.”

“Nothing can be said for certain, Kate Walker,” she shaman noted slyly.

“He remembers nothing but his name and… something else. Could you help him remember?”

“No! Spirits keep the memories. He must remember on his own.”

“Please, I beg you. I beg you to help him!”

“You ask for yourself, Kate Walker, and not for him.”

“It’s not self-interest,” Kate objected. “It’s a protection from insanity. From my insanity! Please…”

“Very well,” the shaman gave in. “Bring him in.”

Winged with hope, the woman hurried to the exit to invite Oscar inside. How surprised she was when returning down the stairs to the spot where she left him, she saw nothing but owl perches and a rickety fence.

_ Oh but I asked! _

First attempts of search brought no results: her companion was nowhere to be seen. Asking the local folk failed as well: the youkols didn’t understand what this strange woman wanted from them.

Where did he go? Where could he be?

A mad thought visited her mind, but a second later it turned into assurance. Kate followed it and ran as fast as she could to the railways, built on the wooden structure and fortified with bones. They crossed the village from the main entrance to the huge gates at the sea. A huge mechanical train was resting on the rails, looking like an old wild animal, staring at the water surface and waiting for its prey. Its beauty never faded, how lion’s pride never fades. However, the train no longer looked like it was ready to go in its first journey. It reminded her of a traveler, that saw the world after a worldwide trip. It simply couldn’t be surprised anymore…

Kate almost flew up the stairs on the platform, ran up into the train cabin, finally locating the man, who stood still at the controls.

“I asked you to wait for me!” she said, breathing heavily after running. “Why did you come in here, who gave you permission to walk inside the train? Can’t you stand still for five minutes? Are you even listening?”

He didn’t respond and the woman felt tense.

“Come, the youkols shaman is waiting for us. She can help return your memories.”

The man’s silence went on. Kate began worrying, she didn’t like it at all.

“Listen, it’s not funny. Come on,” she tried to drag him by his arm, but his hands clenched on the control wheel. His eyes were transfixed on one spot, his pupils wide. Woman’s lips quivered.

“Oscar?”

She called him by his name indecisively, for the first time since they met.

The man’s eyes opened wide, he looked at the woman in shock and stumbled back. Kate could see a storm of emotions in his eyes: fear, worry, confusion, surprise. He must have been remembering, and his memory washed him like an avalanche, wildly, violently and by surprise. No one could go through this easily.

Oscar tried to either say or do something in bewilderment, but he seemed to fail to understand what exactly. He saw this woman’s face, that was his salvation. That was his path, that he could walk without fear and regret. She was his grace, a wondrous piece in the best performance.

His legs gave way and he would have fallen on the cold floor, had the woman failed to catch him and embrace him tight. Fear left him, leaving only light rippling inside him.


	9. Chapter 9

**In the forests close to Romansburg. October 17, 7 years earlier. 35 minutes past 2PM.**

A new work day in the northern taiga forests brought nothing new: same hardworking routine, same soil, spreading ahead, and the same group of people who had orders. And orders weren’t discussed, they were followed at any cost, even at the most terrible one.

Forest looked over from its height; soft owl’s hooting diluted the monotonous creaking of the elderly pine trees. A perfect place to realise your true destiny, if you had one at all. These people didn’t.

The brass announced the terms of the end of work.

“We work till the first big snowstorm, then we stop till spring.”

No one knew how long they’d be putting the rails towards the unknown, but most were happy to escape possible death among snowdrifts. Wiser people spoke differently, realising that one would die faster with a bottle than with a shovel, so they worked on and on, to the loss of pulse. Besides, many of them needed money. Needed something to do.

“They’ll be going down our bones…” Vladimir said thoughtfully, leaning on a wooden crate and lighting up his cigarette.

“What?” August asked, sitting on that very crate and eating his stew from the can. Their lunch break was to be over in 20 minutes and he still hadn’t eaten enough.

“The trains will be going down our bones. Many will die here, I think, mate.”

“Drop it. We’ll go on a break soon. Mikhailovich said so himself!”

“Heh,” chuckled Vladimir. “You’re young, don’t get it yet. Not many here have a place to go back to. For instance, you came here and surely not because of good life?”

August swallowed a large stringy piece of meat with effort and reached out for a piece of bread.

“I was kicked out of my job.”

“See?” White pointed at the sky knowingly. “This place is truly the end of the world.”

August looked at his friend in amazement.

“Yes, yes,” Vladimir went on. “Judge for yourself. This job is the last hope for many, the last dream… There’s no way back from here, only forward. Someone like you thinks, “I’ll earn a bit and leave”. For someone like me - it’s the end.”

“You’re quite a philosopher…”

Vladimir burst in good natured laughter..

That very moment, like a black liner among fishing boats, a man in a coat and a cap walked by without even looking at the workers. The old mysterious man pattered behind him. They looked quite funny from the sidelines. Vladimir suppressed a laugh.

“Wardens…” he mumbled quietly, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground and putting it out with his boot’s tip.

“Could you tell me about them, eh? You’ve been here a while,” August asked carefully.

“Pfft,” White snorted and scratched his unshaven cheek. “No one knows anything particular about these two, but there are quite a few rumours. What’s true and what’s not is up to you to decide.”

“No problem,” August perked up. “Who’s this ruffled up rooster?”

“The tall one in the coat? Ah, it’s Stefenger. A pureblood American, but he tries to show off like a true English gentleman. Manners, speeches and all that, but in fact… Better be careful with him,” Vladimir grimaced. “This asshole won’t play golf or drink tea with you. He’s all about money and not small cash. He’s like a dog, sniffing out where the biggest piece of meat is.”

Vladimir changed to whisper.

“They say he’s working for some British billionaire. Wags his tail before him, follows his every whim. Surprised he doesn’t bring him home slippers.”

“Wow!” August gaped.

“So watch out. They say he used to work for the USA authorities, was a big man, and then quit and left for England. I personally think that he was kicked out after he killed a suspect during interrogation. He’s a machine, not a man. With a steel heart. But that’s just talk…”

August thought the things Vladimir told him over for some minutes. He still couldn’t understand what such a man as Stefenger did in such a remote place, building these railways. Not for this billionaire, surely? Why would a billionaire need a forest?

“And who’s the other one? The old man?” asked August, smoking on an offered cigarette from White.

“His surname is Voralberg. This one is even weirder. All I can say is that he’s not all there.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s crazy and that’s it. So many rumours about him here. Some even say that this railway road is for him.”

August scratched the back of his neck. It was all even more confusing now. A billionaire’s watchdog with a steel heart and a crazy old man - what a strange couple!

“Don’t think too much about this. Just do your work. Brass is brass, it exists to be talked about. You know how they say, the less you know, the better you sleep. Come on, lunch is over,” Vladimir patted August on his back in a friendly manner, grabbed the shovel and went ahead. The young man followed him soon, lost in his own thoughts.

***

**Jukola village. January 7, 200*. Half past 10 in the morning.**

Kate was shifting from one foot to another undecidedly, standing at the hut where Oscar slept. Yesterday was perhaps the hardest day in her life. Even actual mammoths couldn’t cause such an emotional storm. Mammoths, pfft! Even if a dinosaur smashed its way inside the cave now, she wouldn’t be surprised. Now she couldn’t be surprised by anything.

The question “how did it happen?” was to remain unanswered, of course. She just had to accept it, which she wanted and planned to do.

Yesterday Kate left Oscar in the train, allowing him to recover from shock. She needed rest herself. He said nothing then, but she could judge by his eyes, how he looked at her and at the train. She had no doubts left. It was him, and Kate felt endless love to life, like a gulp of fresh air after agonizing waiting. Perhaps, it was the same feeling she had when she left the helicopter for the train, scared to be late. Now she was ready to move mountains again, but what for this time?..

After talking to the shaman and learning next to nothing, she returned to the train. Looked inside the cabin and found the man sleeping calmly on the cold floor by the furnace. She asked youkols’ help to move him to one of the huts and put him in bed. For more comfort, Kate kindly pulled off his boots, jacket and unbuttoned his shirt collar. She noticed a strange scar on his neck, but paid no attention to it. She covered him with a blanket and left to sleep, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to.

In the morning she came to only one conclusion: they’d have to talk and stop hiding. It wouldn’t be easy, but it’s the best way out of this wonderful and strange story. Holding a flat plate with a piece of meat, cooked by the youkols, she knocked and entered the hut after a short pause.

Oscar wasn’t sleeping. He was sitting on his bed, staring into nowhere, but when Kate appeared, he seemed livelier. His face was pale, his eyes were full of fear, but he didn’t look as bad as before.

“Hello,” Kate said, putting as much fondness in this word as she could.

“Good morning, Kate Walker,” he replied distractedly and Kate shivered from the invisible wall she hit.

“I brought food,” she said hoarsely, trying to get rid of a lump in her throat.

Oscar looked at meat and turned away, wrinkling his nose a bit.

“You need to eat,” she insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking in his face. “Please, Oscar.”

Now he flinched. His name, spoken with her voice, brought a whole new flood of memories. He was scared of looking at her. For the first time ever. Kate sighed, trying to find courage to talk and thinking of how to begin best.

“Oscar, I…” she reached out to touch his hand, but this silence was broken by a sudden impatient shout of a phone call. “I’m sorry. Just a minute.”

Having said that, she left the hut hurriedly and replied.

“Hello?”

“Miss Walker?” A male voice hummed in her phone, making the woman look around nervously and bite on her lip.

“Yes, it’s me,” she said with a shivering voice.

“I’d like to inform you about my arrival to the agreed place. I’m ready to fulfil my side of agreement. Local folk assisted me, I hope for assistance from you as well.”

A stone fell on Kate’s heart.  _ He’s here? Already? What will she do! If Oscar learns out… _

“Miss Walker?” the bass voice called her in the phone. The woman felt cold shiver running down her back.

“Yes… Yes, of course, Mr. Stefenger. I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said hurriedly and hang up. What to do?..

The woman wanted to go back inside the hut and ask Oscar to stay there, but had no chance. The door flung open before her. The man was putting his jacket on, walking around Kate decidedly.

“Where are you going?” she asked in a frightened manner.

“Going back to the train,” he replied calmly.

“Wait, hold on. I want to talk to you. It’s important, Oscar,” she walked behind him, trying to stop him by his sleeve, but he didn’t react.

“Talk now, Kate Walker.”

“No, let’s go back to the hut?”

“Why can’t you tell me now? I’m sorry, I can’t leave the train unattended. I must be in the cabin.”

“Stop it, Oscar, you talk like…” she stopped.

“Like who?” he walked faster and she had to keep up with him.

“Alright, just listen to me. It’s about the train.”

He stopped abruptly, and Kate, using the moment, blocked his way by standing in front of him.

“What? Has something happened to it?” He asked worriedly, trying to walk further, but the woman stopped him.

“No, it’s alright, I just… I didn’t know! I really had no idea it will all happen like this. I had no choice! And this man… I’m sorry!”

He couldn’t understand what she was sorry for or what was it she had had no idea about. She was terrified by something and so was he.

“Please, Oscar, let’s go back to the hut, I’ll explain everything,” Kate begged him, when she noticed man’s distant stare, his eyes widening in terror.

She turned around and saw another huge locomotive, the size of their mechanical train, approaching slowly. Having arrived as close as possible, the locomotive stopped and a tall man in a black coat and a cap left it. He quickly looked around and made his way towards the platform stairs. The youkols that were clearing out the rails at the foot of the icy hill, hurried to disappear. Other people also tried to hide.

That moment Oscar darted off to the train, nearly knocking Kate off.

“Oscar! Oscar!!” she called him in vain, running behind.

“What’s going on?! Who are you?!” Oscar shouted, addressing the man on the platform stairs. He removed his dark spectacles, moved his cap backwards a bit and raised his brows in surprise. Cold sharp eyes made Oscar stop in his tracks and cool down.

Kate finally caught up with them. The man in the cap looked at her sharply and his lips stretched in the fakest reserved smile.

“Ah, miss Kate Walker. Wonderful. I must admit I was starting to worry.”

“Mr. Stefenger, I’m very sorry, but our agreement…”

“Miss Walker,” he stopped her decisively with a steel cold voice. “I’m afraid you don’t fully understand the importance of our arrangement. I was under impression that we have agreed upon the most beneficial relationship.”

“It is so, but the situation…”

“The situation is more than agreeable,” he cut her off coldly. “I am surprised by your behavior. I thought you are a wise and decisive woman, that knows things’ price.”

“It’s not about money,” Kate replied in the same firm tone.

“Then I see no reason to further delay our deal. I have already agreed to many of your terms,” he looked down at her face with the look of superiority. “I’m going to attach the carriages, Miss Walker. Upon our arrival, you will receive the promised sum for this mechanical train. And if you still want to leave this place by its means, then I urge you to hurry.”

He glanced at his watch.

“We are already delayed.”

Stefenger left, looking at Oscar from head to toes. Kate could hardly stand, fighting off the qualms after seeing this man.

“What’s he on about, Kate Walker?” the man looked around and looked at her suspiciously. “What sum? What, have you…

It was getting to him. The woman looked at him in fear, her lips pressed tight together.

“You want to sell the train?” He shouted, and his voice echoed all across the village.

“I had no choice!” she tried to move to the man, but he recoiled.

“You sold my train!”

“Oscar, please, I can explain… I really had no…”

“How could you?” He didn’t hear her. “Why? After all that we went through… after our journey… How could you! I thought that you are… I trusted you!”

“I didn’t want to! I had no choice!” She tried to get to him with shouting. “I thought you died and I couldn’t get you back.”

“I think you waited for it. What else have you planned to sell? All the devices of Mr. Voralberg? All the mammoth ivory?”

“Don’t say it!”

“Oh, of course. You have already sold the factory. Now there’s little else left, right? Maybe, that’s why you went with us? Perhaps, you were together with those disgusting thieves, Igor and Ivan Bourgoff?”

“Are you mad? It’s not true! How can you think this of me?”

“And how could _ you _ sell the train?”

She made a step forward, but he thrust his hand out in a stopping gesture.

“You know me, you know I wouldn’t do it if I had other choice! Oscar, please…”

His eyes made her feel sick. Indifferent, looking past her, distrusting. If she had a gun, she’d have pulled the trigger right away, only to escape this glance.

“It seems, I don’t know. You are not Kate Walker. The Kate Walker I knew would never have done it. She’d have kept fighting.”

“For what, Oscar! I had no one. No dream left either.”

She hoped it might soften him, but he didn’t even lift a brow.

“So you decided to simply get rid of it. To give up,” the man turned around and headed to the platform stairs. The woman fell desperate, her heart burnt with anger and offense.

“It’s just a damn train, Oscar!” she shouted in his back, and he stopped. “Just a piece of metal!”

“Am I just a piece of metal too to you?”

“No!” she approached him. “You had a heart, a soul.”

“I thought you did too,” he said hoarsely, and the woman felt his indifferent stare again. He was about to walk up the stairs, when Kate finally exploded.

“Damn you, is there nothing more important to you than your damn piece of metal crap?” She shouted desperately, her breathing uneven and heavy. “Nothing or no one more important?”

“Who can be more important than my train, Kate Walker?” he also shouted desperately, gesturing in the air. In a moment, as he met her eyes, he’d regretted it terribly. He’d never seen the woman like this. She stood there, pale white, her mouth open and her eyes full of pain. Perhaps, he’d never ever forget this pain of hers.

Kate staggered. For a second he thought she would collapse, but she managed. She stood there, staring at him, then nodded lightly.

“Yes, indeed,” her voice trembled, sounding foreign. “No one can be now.”

Closing her mouth, she turned around sharply and ran off. A lone white owl, sitting upon a perch, watched the woman with a predatory look.

***

Oscar went up the stairs onto the platform, fighting the desire to run after the woman and apologize. This failure of hers hurt him painfully, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised that it wasn’t about his train. It was about Kate Walker giving up. For the first time ever he saw her backing down. She had always been an exemplar of bravery and resolve. As a movie superhero, she had no right of making a mistake.

Smirking Stefenger was standing by the coal tender. It seemed he had been watching their argument closely, not even thinking about the attaching of the carriages. Oscar came up to him to say firmly “This train is not for sale,” when the man turned to him abruptly and laughed maliciously. It confused Oscar.

“I see life didn’t teach you anything,” the man came closer to him, rubbing his leathered-gloved hands. “And I was an idiot, I thought you’d run away like a cur and die somewhere by the pickets.”

His face was distorted in a grimace, his eyes burnt with hatred. His sweet aristocratic speeches and velvety low voice disappeared without trace.

“Came for payback?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Oscar with a trifle of fear, truly not understanding.

“You don’t understand…” Stefenger smirked again. “Well, well, August, stop it. Did you think that your moustache and a few days bristle can hide you from me? I’ll remember your face for a lifetime!”

“You confuse me with someone… sir. My name is Oscar. I’m attending this mechanical locomotive as a driver and I’d like to inform you that this train cannot be sold.”

“Is that so?” smirked Stefenger.

“Absolutely. It’s out of the question, sir.”

The man suddenly approached Oscar closely and grabbed the fronts of his jacket.

“Listen up, joker,” Stefenger hissed threateningly. “I don’t care how you call yourself now. Maybe, you went mad after what happened, and that’s for good. Know this, that if you interfere again, say goodbye to your life. It will be such a pity, shall a terrible accident happen to you or your girlfriend… This deal will be struck. I will even pay you, as an honourable man. I adhere to rules, you know, when they suit me…”

He threw Oscar off with such a force that he was lucky to have been still standing.

“You can tell Miss Walker,” he returned to his formal voice, “that the train will depart at noon sharp, and I’d be honoured to have her as my passenger.”

After this, he completely lost interest to their conversation and got down to business. Oscar stood rooted to the spot, realising how bad everything was. He couldn’t simply dismiss this man’s words. Somehow Oscar knew, that Stefenger won’t miss an opportunity of fulfilling his promise, and an “accident” could actually happen. Or would happen anyway, as soon as he got his hands on the train, if not already.

He had to warn Kate Walker about this man! He had to inform her of the danger.

Without thinking long, he hurried to search for the woman, knowing one thing: they had to catch a train.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helena's song is here again and once more I choose not to translate it.

**In the forests close to Romansburg. Middle of August, 6 years earlier. Almost 10PM.**

Troubled wind was spreading thick dense clouds all over the night sky. Black pine tree tops were blurry against this background; their prickly branches waved the clouds off, like a cloud of annoying mosquitos. Night was approaching, dark, almost southern, much unlike these northern lands. However, the group that gathered around the fire wasn’t troubled by it at all, perhaps, only more intrigued.

Their work day had ended long ago. Some people left for their homes, others, that had no home, went to their tents or caravans to get some sleep, and just a few stayed up in this place and for a good reason.

A few days ago, much to the brass’ dislike, a group of musicians had founded a camp. It was a huge gypsy family of about 20 people, excluding the infants. Stefenger wasn’t happy about it. When the gypsies ignored all threats and sent curses in return, the man got away as soon as he could, promising to return and shoot everyone in his sight.

Actually, hand on heart, one could understand Stefenger. Deadline was nearing, and the workers kept running after the black haired beauties and listened to the old gypsy’s prophecies instead of working hard. The work paused. The rails have already gotten to a loud mountain river, where a wooden bridge was supposed to be erected. Its building was planned for the end of august - beginning of september, but now… It all went down the drain.

August yawned widely without even bothering to cover his mouth. He sat by the edge, a bit further from the main group. The company wasn’t promiscuous, all men were mostly of the same age, loud and preferring sight to sleeping. The only one who stood out was that old man, the one that followed Stefenger everywhere. August wasn’t sure he remembered his surname and he knew his name not. Nevertheless, the young man often thought of him and wondered, why the old man stayed in such an unsuitable company instead of leaving for home.

Suddenly all the voices fell silent. August had to look away from the old madman.

On the lawn, from the other side of the fire, several people, mostly women in lush colourful skirts and heavy golden accessoires, left the shadow. The three men that held two guitars and a tambourine had heavy jeweled rings on their fingers.

The workers catcalled the women and the women in turn sat among them, no less playfully, offering drinks and appetizers, twittering something. Noise and bustle began its reign. A bit later a huge juicy piece of meat was roasting over the firelogs, drawling guitar string sounds could be heard.

August felt someone studying him. He looked around and noticed a very young woman, that chose to stay with her family rather than jump in the men’s arms. The woman was looking at him with a pair of huge black eyes, smiling shyly and curling a lock of black thick hair round her finger. She couldn’t be older than 18, but her glances were adult enough. August couldn’t help but smile back. The girl laughed, naking white teeth, but then fell silent at the sight of a young man, sitting by her side. He had to be her brother.

Loud sharp whistles drew attention of the slightly drunk crowd. Simple guitar strumming was heard again, and a plump woman of 50 years stepped into the light gracefully. Her shoulders were covered with a painted shawl, her ears were heavy with shiny rings, and her collar was decorated with a necklace that had a small golden rearing horse as a pendant.

Everyone froze, expecting a miracle. The woman slowly moved one arm to the side, gesturing at the musicians, and they played an accord. The tambourine trembled lightly. The woman breathed in deep and began singing in a low opera voice:

_ О-очи чё-о-о-рные-э… _ _   
_ _ Очи стра-а-астные-э… _ _   
_ _ Очи жгу-у-учие-э _ _   
_ __ И прекра-а-асные-э!..

_ Как люблю-у я ва-а-ас… _ _   
_ _ Как бою-усь я ва-а-ас… _ _   
_ __ Зна-ать, уви-и-идел вас я в недо-о-обрый ча-а-ас!..

The wind caught the song and echoed it all over the forest. All eyes were glued to the singer, no one dared to move. Even this strange old man stared at the gypsy, as if she were the eighth miracle. Perhaps, she was indeed. Fire was gleaming on her tan skin; her colourful clothes and her jewelry - all this burnt mysteriously in the light of scarlet fire. The musicians played faster, the woman sang livelier:

_ Очи чёрные-э, _ _   
_ _ Очи страстные-э, _ _   
_ _ Очи жгучие-э _ _   
_ __ И прекрасные!

_ Как люблю-у я ва-а-ас, _ _   
_ _ Как боюсь я ва-а-ас! _ _   
_ _ Зна-а-ать, увидел вас _ _   
_ __ Я в недобрый ча-а-а-ас!

The woman jerked her hands, and the bracelets on her wrists tinkled cheerfully. Music was pouring as a wild mountain river. Several other women got up and playing with the hems of their skirts began dancing slowly. Almost at once some men joined them, unwilling to simply sit and watch this beauty. Someone clapped, other whistled or tapped. There was a carousel, a burst of colours, music kept getting faster. Now there were just 3 people who didn’t join the wild dancing. One of them was the old man.

The plump gypsy gestured in the air, as if she were a conductor, given to the laws of music, and the dance stopped dead at once. She was ready to sing for the third time. In the meantime, August rose discreetly from the cold grass and headed somewhere to the side, artfully hiding among the women’s skirts.

_ О-о-очи чё-о-орные-э… _ _   
_ _ О-о-очи ста-а-астные-э… _

The song was vibrating in the air. Alas, he never heard its end. And not him alone…

As the music tempo grew faster and accords became louder, August was pulling a young black eyed woman in his tent. She grabbed the hems of her skirts and artfully jumped over the holes and hassocks.

_ Зна-а-ать, уви-и-идел ва-а-ас я в недо-о-обрый ча-а-ас!... _

That was what he heard when he got lost in the giggling girl’s skirt and fell on top of her. She gasped and clasped him with her legs, kissing him passionately and pulling his shirt off. The tent was far enough from the fire and they weren’t afraid of being heard…

***

“Won’t they be looking for you?” asked August, catching his breath.

“No. My brother got drunk,” the girl giggled, pressing her hot body to the young man’s. “He always gets drunk and forgets about me, then he feels ashamed and starts patronizing me.”

“Bad luck,” smirked August.

“I don’t complain, he’s nice. Do you have a family?”

“Had an uncle,” sighed August. “He was a good man, a kind one. Took me hunting.”

Silence fell between them. The girl was moving her finger over the man’s chest, drawing intricate patterns.

“What’s your name?” she asked all of a sudden.

“And your’s?”

“Oi, it’s unfair, I asked you first,” she pouted as a child.

“Alright, alright,” he gave in. “August.”

The girl looked at him in surprise and then laughed playfully.

“What?” he was confused.

“A man with a summer name. In Siberia and with a summer name.”

“A usual name, don’t pick at it. Now it’s your turn.”

“Ah, I won’t say!”

“Oi, it’s unfair!” Now it was his turn to pout childishly, teasing her. She pushed him in the shoulder and both of them burst in laughter.

“I can tell you a fairytale instead. Imagine,” she began without waiting for his approval. “My grandma used to say, that there is an island somewhere in the North, where mammoths live and blue grass grows.”

“What?” laughed August. “Grass is green and not blue. Blue grass, ha… How silly.”

“It’s just a fairytale! Everything can happen in fairytales,” she said seriously. “Even blue grass. But some people think, it’s true.”

“Yeah…” he drawled dreamily. “Couldn’t hurt going to such an island. Maybe, I should go there on vacations? Wanna go with me?”

He winked at her.

“Nope, “ she shook her head. “I don’t wanna go north.”

“And where do you want to go?”

The girl fell silent for a while.

“To America,” she said firmly all of a sudden.

“Whoah!” August was sincerely surprised. “What requests! Well, honey, one has to earn a lot for it.”

The man had fallen on her again. The girl squealed happily and drowned in his embrace.

Some time later slightly pouting August watched her get dressed and hide her slim legs under a long skirt.

“Leaving already?”

“Yes, what if my brother comes back to his senses and starts looking for me.”

“So what, you are not a nun!” he shrugged.

“Yes, but I have a wedding in a few days,” she admitted, pressing her lips together guiltily.

“So, you won’t come back?” he asked her fearfully.

She just shook her head, kissed his cheek and dashed out of the tent with a short “bye”. August had nothing left to do, but to go to sleep, remembering the young gypsy’s face. How sad, that he never learnt her name.   
  
***

**The youkols village. February 7, 200*. Half past 11 AM.**

“I hated it,” she said at last, after a long silence, holding a handkerchief in her hand.

Oscar, who stood in the doorway, walked across the hut and sat on the other side of the bed, his back to the woman. For a while they sat like this. Both were upset and guilty. He had no trouble finding Miss Walker: she wasn’t hiding or avoiding him, she simply returned to where he woke up that morning. He told her of the danger at once in a cold voice, but she didn’t react at all. Just looked at him with her glassy eyes, as if he told her a commonly known fact. Her face, swollen with tears, wasn’t as pale anymore. But it hardly calmed him.

“Who?” he asked. “This man?”

“No. The train.”

He turned around in bewilderment.

“The train?” he repeated. “How can you hate it? From the very beginning?”

She shook her head.

“No. Only when I returned from the island to the village.”

“But why?” he couldn’t understand her.

“It reminded me of you,” she said it so casually, as if it went without saying, and once more she started playing with the handkerchief in her hands.

Oscar turned away again, staring at the dark wall with its nailed down ivory charms in the shape of mammoth skulls.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I… I didn’t think you would be… so upset.”

“He didn’t think,” she laughed bitterly, looking up to the light. Icy tears flickered in her eyes. “Of course. It’s so easy for you and Hans. Like on schedule, right?”

“Not at all.”

“I didn't go to mount a scaffold, Oscar! How do you think I should have felt? First I thought I was the living dead,” Kate sniffed. “Then I came back… You know the youkols, they’re kind, but they have their rules and religion. They don’t accept this steel. It turned out, that Hans hardly managed to talk them into building the rails into the village and gave them his word that after his departure they’re free to get rid of them. And… of the train too. They just wanted to use a hoist to throw it outside the cave and leave it there, and to disassemble the platform.”

Oscar managed a little smile.

“And you protested.”

“Of course I did! I couldn’t just leave this locomotive to rust. It was a matter of memories. And then…” She wrinkled her nose. “This man appeared. Stefenger… I don’t know how he got to the village, probably by a snowmobile. And I can’t even imagine how he knew my name. He must have made inquiries… He was so gentle and polite. He said that he understands the situation and can help. That he can resolve the question of towing the train. It’s just that…”

“He wanted to buy it,” finished Oscar.

“Of course, I didn’t want to sell it,” she sobbed. “But it’s not like I had a choice. He promised that the train would be in good care. Gave me a week for thinking. Every day!”

She hit her leg with a fist.

“Every single day, Oscar, I went to this damn train and imagined you cursing me. I spent nights in the cabin, trying to come up with something. But there was no one beside me to believe in my bravery and mind. I went mad in loneliness.”

He sighed. It all became clearer. It was unbearable to hear her rare sobbing, but he knew he had to listen to the end. He could feel her pain so plainly, as if he lost his hearing and acquired it again, and someone was shouting in his ear now.

“I couldn’t stand seeing it!” Kate went one, emptying out all her emotions. “Every time I approached it, I saw you turning away and leaving. Like you just say goodbye to me, like I was a short acquaintance or a polite shop assistant, and then you just leave. I felt so sick! I thought I gained so much, that now I couldn’t lose it. I was angry at you, at Hans, who was happy on his island with those mammoths, angry at myself. And then… I went to the shaman.”

“You wanted to…”

“Yes,” she interrupted him. “I thought: “What if it works out?” I wanted to believe in something again… To have a new dream.”

Oscar looked at his own hand. It was absolutely human, no sign of mechanisms. Just bones, muscles, skin. Kate seemed to have remembered something, she smiled and dried her annoying tears with a sleeve.

“You know, she asked me for an object.”

“An object?” he repeated.

“Yes, a thing that you would want to return for, or a piece of it,” now she spoke worriedly without pain.

“First, I wanted to give her the key of your train, even put it in my pocket, but then… I didn’t want for you to come back for this genius locomotive. So I gave her this…”

She placed a small white object on the bed. Oscar turned around to look at it closely.

He smiled and realised, that she was right. As always. He turned to Kate to hand her own handkerchief over.

***

It was less than five minutes till the train departed. Young men hastily gathered their possessions, left the hut and hurried to the platform. Each of them had a heavy backpack, Oscar also had a rolled thick blanket made from mammoth fur.

“I’m sorry for all I said,” he apologized to the woman, fixing the blanket in his hold. “I don’t really think this way, I assure you. Kate Walker, I hope you are not too offended?”

“Don’t worry, it’s alright,” she calmed him with a smile. “It’s my fault too. I should have been apologizing, I know how dear this train is to you. Don’t worry, we’ll think of something together.”

Oscar smiled too, but then his face fell gloomy and he frowned.

“This man won’t step aside easily. He threatened me, made me sure that if we refuse, we won’t leave this place alive.”

“We’ll see about it!” the woman said firmly, and he saw how Kate Walker returned her sense of life.

“I never doubted you!” he said proudly.

“Ah, that’s how we are talking now,” she laughed. “We’ll find a way, the most important thing right now is to move the train from the village till the next winding machine. And then we’ll see. Let’s solve problems as they come.”

“The most important thing,” Oscar objected,” is for this… sir to drive the train correctly. And this requires professionalism and a lot of training, and…”

“Maybe, he’s not that bad a driver as you think,” Kate noted slyly.

“I quite doubt it, Kate Walker.”

“Well, at least he doesn’t want tickets from me, train ratifications, visas…. Like some do. And this is quite an advantage.”

“Is that so!” Oscar said resentfully, even stopping in his tracks.

Kate laughed, walked around him, hastening her pace.

“Come on, you don’t want to be late for the train, do you?”

“But you won’t leave without me?”

“I never will.”

A piercing loud train toot spread all over the village, black smoke poured out of the tube. It was a long way ahead, and a long way home.


	11. Chapter 11

**A male monastery close to Romansburg. The end of November, around 5PM. 6 years earlier.**

A fat unattractive monk, holding a bucket and a brush, was hurrying on his business that consisted of cleaning black mould off the cell walls. Huffing and biting on his lips, he walked around a group of praying men and headed right into the darkness of the hall to get down to his duties.

“What you want to do,” a hoarse voice of an old man could be heard from one of the cells, and the fat monk tensed, “it breaks all the laws. I cannot allow you.”

“I won’t get to Syberia without it, Alexei, and you know it,” replied another voice.

It seemed that the argument happened between two elderly people. The monk carefully approached the last cell door and looked into the keyhole. A silhouette in a black lose overall was standing again the window, his hood down. It was brother Alexei, an old monk that has reached the foot of his own grave, and the most disliked one by all the brothers of the monastery. The prior himself talked of him as of an apostate who disrespected God’s law. The monk could see his white hair, as he barely stood, leaning on the table, catching his last breath.

His companion sat in the shadow on a bunk, so the monk couldn’t see his face, but the “spy” did recognize the voice. How could he not, for it was the foreigner, an even darker horse than Toukianov. Despite all the innovations he brought to the monastery, including the elevator, he had always been a dissident to the servants of Mother Mary.

“With all due respect…. Our friendship is strong, but I fear it cannot stand such a trial,” Alexei went on.

“I don’t ask you to give up on your faith!” said the other man hoarsely and coughed.

“That’s exactly what you are asking for. I don’t need another sin on my soul, I refuse to participate in this!”

The monk behind the door became tense. Tut-tut… This conversation would be of much interest to the Prior… 

“You must help me, Alexei,” said his companion calmly but firmly. “I don’t have enough strength to get to the youkols, and you know their methods better than anyone. You can talk with spirits like a shaman. And last time it was shaman that helped me.”

“Please, speak quietly. If the Prior knows…”

“You are still afraid of this old idiot,” laughed the old man, leaning forward.

“Primarily, I fear the anger of God,” Alexei gestured in the air. “Only God can create the way you do, we are only his sons and daughters. The soul goes from the Heavens and it must return there. You break the main law! You…”

The monk looked around nervously and changed to a troubled whisper.

“You behave like our Maker, may God forgive me for such words.”

“I did nothing wrong, Alexei. And I won’t give up, do you understand?”

“I know, and I support your dream. But my energy, just like yours, is at its end. I feel that life leaves me,” the old monk moved a chair closer and sat on it heavily. “I’ll give you all my notes and herbs. All that you need for the ritual. But I won’t advise or help you with it.”

“You’ve changed, Alexei…” said the other man.

“The nearness of death changes us all, my friend. When you know your time is due, you always look for saving, both on earth and in Heavens. We all… hide.”

“That’s why I must be sure of him.”

“It’s not up to us to manage others’ fates. It must be his decision and his decision only.”

“I must be sure,” repeated the old man, and the monk nodded submissively, interlocking his thin fingers.

“Not only you doom him into life of a pig in a sty, but you give him no choice. It’s wrong, Hans. Wake up! You chain the poor soul!”

“He-he,” chuckled the man. “Then we all are pigs in a sty, Alexei.”

“You don’t understand…” the man sighed hopelessly.

The old man suddenly rose from the bunk and pattered towards the cell exit. The monk behind the door hurriedly jumped away to the other wall, pretending to be cleaning it strenuously.

“Halt, Hans, we are not done. Promise me. Promise before me and God, promise, that at least you won’t sentence him to this. Don’t program him for this.”

The man stopped in the doorway and turned around to give his half-blind friend one last glance.

He said nothing. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted.

“May the Lord have mercy on us…”

***

Four bulky monks, dressed in black cassocks, were carrying a wooden coffin on their shoulders. The Prior himself was walking in front of them, as he had just finished the burial service to the deceased man and feeling quite inspired after it. No, it had nothing to do with death. Merely every prayer to the Lord pushed heavy sins off his shoulders and pleasantly fondled his soul with chastising fire.

Another monk trailed behind with a couple of shovels in his hands. A sad young man in working robes and with a hollow face locked the procession.

The group crossed the square from the church to the graveyard, walked into the place of eternally sleeping and stopped by a 3 meters deep pit.

“Lower the deceased, brothers,” the Prior commanded, and the monks began slowly lowering the coffin on ropes into the soil. The Prior was quietly muttering the prayers.

The young man stood there, his head lowered, and it seemed, praying too. Soon, all was over. The monks left the fresh grave. The young man was left alone, not hurrying to leave this place.

“Nothing is eternal in this sinful world,” said a voice behind him, followed by spiteful laughter.

“What?” August turned around, waking from his thoughts. A fat monk stood before him, his tiny sly eyes squinted.

“Oh, don’t take offence. I just wanted to say my condolences. Was it your relative?”

“A friend,” the young man replied with reluctance.

“Close friends’ death is always painful. But death is not the end, our soul is eternal. I am certain that your friend found peace in Heavens next to our Lord.”

August said nothing, waiting for the monk to get the hell out of there and leave him alone. He even turned away to show his displeasure of this conversation.

“Ah,” the monk went on cluelessly. “Nothing to do… This is the Lord’s will. We are just humans, weak and mortal. We are not to blame him. Tee-hee. Some time will pass and we ourselves will be buried beneath the soil. And I still haven’t seen my… Ah, it doesn’t matter. Our death is his grace.”

“Grace?” repeated August, touching the tombstone where Vladimir’s name and life dates were carved out.

“Yes! Yes! We give ourselves back in return for our creation. It’s an honour and a delight. It’s our fate. Tee-hee. A caught fish is a happy fish, you know. Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae*. Do you speak Latin, no? Ah, a dead language. Maybe, you’ll learn it one day…”

_ *«This is the place where death is happy to help life.» _

Suddenly the bells rang.

“Oh, how unexpected!” the monk gestured in the air widely. “It seems death won’t leave our walls today. I… must go back to my work. May God bless you and memento mori.”

Having said that, the man hurried to leave.

August sighed, coping with the lump in his throat. Lone snowflakes swirled, disappearing on cold ground or hitting the tombstone. Deadly beautiful.

“You were right, buddy,” he said, looking at the gray gloomy sky. “These bastards  _ will _ go on our bones. Too bad that it is not their own.”

Pulling a hat on his head, getting a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, the young man headed away, watching the monks fuss around the last cell. Indeed, death wasn’t rare in these walls.

***

Having arrived down the foot of the rock on elevator, where the monastery stood as a nested brid, August blew out his cigarette butt right on the stone wall. Vladimir’s death hit him badly: he could still hear his calm voice, see his slightly bandit but simple-minded face. Vladimir was August’s support, the only person he could rely on. Now the young man was all alone again.

“Excuse me,” he heard a faint voice. He turned around to see a young woman in a black shawl, in an old male jacket and boots.

“Excuse me,” she repeated. Her eyes were full of worry and fear. “Are you August?”

“Yes,” the man said uncertainly.

“How good it is that I’ve met you,” she tried to smile but failed. “Vladimir… spoke of you. They didn’t let me in the monastery because of some lex. Could you tell me, how is he?”

It seemed she didn’t know. Vladimir was brought to the monastery at his deathbed. The prior promised to help, but all he could do was to dig out his “deathly pit”. He didn’t even care to cure him, only stopped by the cell once and announced the hopelessness of the situation.

“Are you…” August stumbled.

“His sister. The younger.”

The woman looked at the man with hope and belief in wonder. Oh, how he didn’t want to torture her with trust. At some point he was ready to curse it all and tell her that her brother was well. That he was alive. That he wasn’t beneath the soil in a coffin. That he… simply left, far far away. But…

“He…” he said finally. “I’m sorry…”

He didn’t need to finish. The woman closed her face and burst in tears. The man lingered a moment but hugged her tight, sharing her pain and sorrow. They stood by the monastery’s feet for a long time. She was hiding her face in his chest, and he was manfully suppressing tears, watching a white owl that looked at them with a pair of big yellow eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Forests close to Romansburg. February 8, 200*. Early morning.**

In the spacious icy desert and the surrounding cold Kate dreamed. Her dream was restless and strange. In this dream she thought that it was her frozen body, curled up on the metal locomotive floor. Reality of it welcomed her with drumroll and the hooves, hitting wet pavement.

There she is, a usual lawyer, standing there clueless and confused, and a caravan of mechanical men is passing her by. They walk ignoring her, and a wagon with a coffin is jumping lightly ahead. The automatons are seeing off their grace in her last journey, taking sir Death with them.

Forged gates close with a loud clink - and break into billions of sand grains, revealing a caravan of mammoths to Kate, that are taking away their own grace, but the same old sir death…

She could see the beginning and the end as two same letters of one word. Kate was certain that she knew the word. Of course, she did. She read it like a long book and wanted to put it back on the shelf with a smile, certain that one day she’d reread it again. But… the book turned out to be much more interesting.

She woke up in a slight chill and distress. Her body ached from sleeping on the rough floor, even if it was covered with a thick blanket. She managed to sit up, leaning on her arm, and looked outside through the doorway. The pine trees were standing solemnly. The train was standing too.

Kate turned on the other side and found Oscar sleeping in an uncomfortable position. He was sitting with his back at the still warm furnace. His head was drooped, hands in his pockets and legs curled up. He must have been frozen before falling asleep.

“Silly…” Kate sighed like a mother hen when her children are misbehaving.

She sat up, threw a half-length coat, gifted by youkols, off herself and carefully, trying not to wake him up, helped Oscar lie down on her place and covered him with this improvised blanket. This night he had been fighting sleeping again, like a child who was eager to see Santa on Christmas eve. The man tried to stay indifferent, but Kate knew that he was afraid. Not surprising. He slept only once in his life before, and if it wasn’t for Miss Walker, this sleep would have been eternal.

All other human needs he denied just out of principle. He said, if he hadn’t needed them before, he didn’t need them now either. And no matter how hard Kate tried to convince him, the ex-automaton was adamant, like he would have been with a ticket or ratification. And only when he couldn’t deny it any longer, Oscar had to flake out, force stew from the can or something worse inside him.

She didn’t want to argue and bravely tolerated all his quirks, hoping that soon her companion would get used to it. For now, she had to practically guess all his needs.

“Listen,” she said yesterday. “If you need something, just tell me. You don’t need to stare at me like this. I don’t know how this happened, but now you are the same human as I am, Oscar, so please… I understand that all this is new to you, but you managed somehow before you… remembered, right.”

After Kate’s confident speech, things got better, but just a bit. It was too early to judge. They needed time.

Leaving Oscar alone, Miss Walker went out for a walk and to learn why the train was still. Both coal tenders were full, although the one with the mechanical train was only half full.

Kate stood in one place for a while, knee deep in snow, getting used to the silence and looking at the unusual train. Now it looked like a strange two-headed monster, looking in different directions. There was no way of rotating the locomotive, so the newer train was dragging it the other way round.

The woman remembered her dream. Such different and such similar beginnings and ends this train and herself had. Perhaps, it was the image of her journey.

Kate reached the middle of the construction, looking into the light hole between the attached carriages. She could see a thick snowy pine tree trunk through it. Nothing else. The woman looked up to look at the tree top, but it was still in no wind. There was nothing special about this tree, just a random plant in the forest. A normal tree and a normal woman on opposite sides of the road. Kate looked around, searching for the Harfang, but the bird was nowhere to be seen.

She could see Romansburg ahead, covered with a snowy mist, and a monastery was just visible from the pine tree tops. Last night the train safely crossed the newly-built bridge. It seemed that Stefenger kept his word - no problem with relocating the train. It must have been his people that rebuilt the destroyed rails.

There was no carriage in the river. Kate was certain about it, but she had no time to think of where it could be gone.

She walked further, reaching the newer train’s cabin and looked through a tiny window. Stefenger was sleeping, his cap down on his eyes. Kate wanted to knock as the door was locked, but someone called her from behind.

“Excuse me, Miss, can I help you with something?”

The woman flinched, looked around and went down. There was a thin smiling boy of about 17 years old, grimy and disheveled.

“Hello,” Kate smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed. “And you are…”

“Helping Mr. Stefenger to drive the train. Alone one can’t manage it. I add coal and fix problems. It’s a touch messy but an essential task.”

_ I’ve heard it somewhere… _

“Is that so! I haven’t seen you before.”

“Hah,” the boy grinned. “I don’t like the public, Miss. Besides, I’m just a driver’s assistant, I should not leave the train. So… you need Mr, Stefenger? I’m sorry, but he is resting and asked not to be disturbed. Perhaps, I could help you?”

“Eh… Yes, I guess. I just wanted to ask why the train is stopped?”

“Mr. Stefenger was driving all night, Miss. How do you think…”

“Yes, of course, I didn’t think it through,” Kate smiled guiltily. She indeed wasn’t used to the idea of a driver being tired. “But why haven’t we reached the station? It’s… much more convenient to leave the train there.”

“I don’t know, Miss. Mr Stefenger decided this, so I know nothing.”

“I see. Well, thank you.”

“No problem, Miss. Ask me if you need anything,” having said that, the young man got down to his work, checking the wheels and, it seemed, forgetting about Kate’s existence.

The woman thoughtfully returned to their mechanical train. A walk through the snowdrifts energized and warmed her. Shaking snow off her boots, she returned into the cabin and was surprised to find Oscar awake, studying his hands curiously. Suppressing a smile, she sat by his side, pulling up her backpack.

“How strange,” he said finally, while she was looking for food in her bag.

“What is?” she asked, still busy.

“I have hair on my arms. Is it normal?”

“Nope. Absolutely abnormal.”

“Really?” he perked up in fear, but noticed how the woman was laughing quietly. “It’s not funny, Kate Walker. I can’t know. I’m asking you seriously, and by the way, you yourself said…”

“Alright, alright, please don’t get mad. Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Kate apologized, but Oscar was already pouting. “No offense. It was just a joke. If you want to know, you are absolutely okay. You don’t even have a stuck nose in this cold weather, so stay calm.”

“Are you sure?” he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Yes!” the woman said firmly, praying to God that the man began studying his new body from his hands.

“I liked my… previous hands more.”

“At least these can’t be stolen,” Kate said happily, finally finding the food and switching to searching for the can-opener.

“Here,” she handed him a piece of bread which the man took reluctantly. “Now, stew or sardines, sir?”

“What?” he was confused.

The woman showed him two different cans. Oscar wrinkled his nose.

“How much more of this yuck do you have?”

“Well, yesterday you refused roast mammoth. So, sir gourmet, choose from what is left. It’s not English breakfast, of course, but you could imagine it’s… machine oil.”

Oscar, knowing Miss Walker’s determination too well, knew that she wouldn’t leave him alone if he didn’t eat, so he poked at the stew can, indicating his choice. Kate nodded in a pleased manner and grabbed the can-opener.

Breakfast went silent. Somewhere close snow fell from the branch.

“Why are we stopped?” asked Oscar with his mouth full.

“Stefenger is sleeping,” Kate explain, pulling out a fish from the can. “Romansburg is close. I am more interested in why we haven’t reached the station.”

“Maybe he is afraid for the train? I didn’t like this city either!”

“Stefenger? Afraid? It’s the city that should be afraid, not him.”

“Do you think he did it to prevent us from getting to the winding up machine?” Oscar frowned.

“I don’t know. I doubt it… Well, even if we did wind the train up, what next? We won’t fly away. No, winding the train up - it’s only 20% of success.”

“Regardless, we do need to wind it up, Kate Walker.”

“You are right,” she agreed with a sigh.

Their situation was hard, but they had got out of worse problems. Although, it used to happen on its own. They followed the river’s flow. And now… it was hard to say. It all led to the point where they’d have to wave goodbye to their train and period. This wild river was pulling them in one direction.

“We swim against the current,” Kate said aloud.

“Against the current? What do you mean?”

She looked at him as if she woke up and looked at the man.

“Don’t mind me…” she fell thoughtful again. Several minutes passed in silence. “Tell me, please, what will you do if you have your train back?”

“What do you mean, what I’ll do! I…” he tried to think of a good answer, but failed. “And what will you do, when you go back?”

“I’ll…” she stumbled. “I’ll go back to my old life. I think…”

There was a long pause, that spoke more words that they needed aloud.

“Anna Voralberg…” Oscar spoke suddenly. “It was she who was supposed to go. Not you.”

“I know. It was a last journey to the dream.”

“Do you regret this journey?”

“How can I? It changed all my life. I only regret that Madam Voralberg couldn’t go.”

“I don’t.”

“Oscar, you can’t say that! Miss Anna was a wonderful woman, and she deserved this journey no less than I did!” Kate objected seriously, but as her eyes met with Oscar’s, she fell silent and smiled.

An owl hooted in the distance.


	13. Chapter 13

The train raced past the Romansburg platform, leaving plain little houses, old memories and might-have-been dreams behind. Snowy mist enveloped the railways. Sometimes the wind brought distant echo of a “Welcome to Romansburg…”

Oscar was standing in the doorway, holding onto the ledge, and watching the mist swallowing the monastery silhouette. Kate stood by, feeling troubled.

“Why did I remember it?” he asked more himself than his companion.

“The monastery?”

“Yes. Why that? Not the factor, or Mister Voralberg, or you? Why this monastery?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes our memory is complicated and confusing. Perhaps, something reminded you of it.”

“I had to remember you the moment I saw you!” he shouted angrily at himself or no one.

“But if not for the monastery…” she said calmly, putting her hand on his shoulder, “we wouldn’t have met.”

Oscar felt her tenderness, warmth and care through his back, but kept staring into the icy distance.

“What have you been looking for there, by the way? You brought some papers with you. Did they belong to Mr Voralberg?”

“Yes. He asked me to find them and… destroy them.”

“What is it, in these papers?”

“Hans forbade me to read them.”

“But you know?”

“I have a guess.”

He turned around and looked in her eyes. She couldn’t bear it and returned to her warm blanket. Oscar didn’t like such a turn. Her silence could mean just one thing - there was something else that he shouldn’t know. And even worse, something that Miss Walker shouldn’t know either.

***

**In the forests close to Romansburg. The end of November, 3 hours in the afternoon. 6 years earlier.**

The sounds of tools and voices were now heard from the other side of the mountain river. A woman, standing close to the edge of the bank, wasn’t hurrying to step on the bridge, wiping tears away with her jacket’s sleeve. Her light hair was messy, her lips cracked from cold. And down there, icy water was running seething, making her head spin with wilderness and its deep azure.

“Olga,” a voice called her and the woman turned around. A man was approaching her, holding a dark bundle in his arms.

“August,” she said warmly, allowing herself a tired smile.

“I brought his things. All I could find. Some stuff he lost on a cards bet, and I couldn’t get them back.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry. You have already done so much for me!” she accepted the bundle with gratitude. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No-no! Vladimir was a good friend and I’m glad that his things are now in good hands.”

Olga sighed heavily, holding tears back, and looked at the bridge again, then at the wild river beneath it.

“It happened here?”

“Yes.”

“How… How did it happen?” her voice trembled, but she was strong enough to listen to her brother’s death tale. August was strong enough to tell it.

“We were in a hurry. We had to finish the bridge till the beginning of autumn, according to the plan. But we couldn’t, and didn’t even finish it when colds arrived. And this bastard…” August clenched his fists, holding back his hatred to Stefenger. “Made us work. Day and night. All this time we thought we’ll die from cold!..”

“Don’t,” his anger was stopped by woman’s touch on his shoulder.

“The logs were icy and slippery,” August went on calmly. “He slipped and fell down. Into the river.”

Olga flinched and pressed her lips together. The man wanted to say something else, but she let him know that she didn’t want to hear more. August had nothing left but to wait.

“He always…” she began quietly, “ thought that misfortunes avoided him. Agreed on any job, just to make sure I needed nothing. He wanted to make me happy so much! And I sat at home and worried. He was always angry about it.”

She laughed bitterly.

“I prayed to the Lord to keep my brother safe, but He decided to take him…”

August held a pause to honour his deceased friend. He knew quite decidedly that that night he’d get drunk for two. The monk’s words visited his mind…  _ “Some time will pass and we ourselves will be buried beneath the soil.” _

“A small freight train with food and materials will arrive tonight. I can arrange for them to take you home,” he offered kindly.

“Home? To an empty home, alone, where everything reminds me of him? I’m not ready…”

“What are you going to do then?”

Olga said nothing, unable to find an answer.

“If you want to… you can stay here. I know, it’s not the best idea. But at least you won’t be alone,” August suggested carefully.

“Really?” she looked at him hopefully.

“I promise,” he nodded seriously, making her smile again.

***

The damp wooden door opened only from a second hard push, letting fresh air in the small workers’ caravan. This two-man handmade home had no difference from all the others that were spread around the work-in-progress railway. Inside was quite sparse: a rectangular table by the window, two chairs, metal double bunkbed, a fuel stove in the corner, its pipe going into the wall. There was also an old coverless trunk, that was piled with various junk, mostly tools, clothing and food cans. Somewhere behind the house the dogs were barking.

“Come on in, make yourself at home,” August let Olga walk inside first, then quickly dashed to his bed to hide dirty underwear under the bed mattress that he planned to wash for a whole week already. The woman looked around, apparently finding the place in a better state than she expected.

“You lived here with my brother?”

“What? Ah, no. Vladimir lived a bit further and alone.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t know. He always lived alone and didn’t chat much about this.”

“And what about you?” she changed the topic.

“A man lived with me. A small and a fat one, but he was quite skillful to get on top of the bunkbed. He left not that long ago. Said that he was awaited at home,” August knocked with his knuckles on the metal structure of the bed. “If you want, I can sleep on the top bed now.”

Olga nodded and went to the window.

“Good. Then I’ll go and get a mattress and sheets for you.”

“Are you sure no one will object?” she asked worriedly. “What if your bosses know? I feel so embarrassed for getting you in trouble…”

“Stop it! My bosses couldn’t care less, this I know for certain. If productivity falls or the plague hits, then they’ll get worried. And now, one person less, one person more - no biggie! So don’t worry and wait for me, I’ll come back soon.”

The man left, and Olga stayed to wait for his return in semi darkness. Having waited for a while, she opened the bundle that August gave her and carefully studied her brother’s things. Nothing new in there. Except for the box of matches. Everything else she knew.

Olga took a photo frame and looked at it for a long time with a sad smile, then placed it on the table. A pair of playful child’s eyes was looking at her from the picture: a young girl in a white shirt was smiling happily, carelessly and sincerely…

Vladimir loved this picture of his sister’s. When she was angry at him or sad, he showed her this picture, and said, “Look, Olenka*, what a girl! I’d kiss her if I met her! Ah, I’ve seen her somewhere already… There she is, right before me!”.

_ *Olenka is a sweet version of the name Olga. _

How long ago all this was. If only she could return to that moment, just for a second…

Olga looked at her smiling self again. And sighed heavily. A lonely woman and an only picture on the table continued drowning in darkness.

At that time August hurried to Mikhailovich’s house, who was managing everything in the absence of the brass, of course. On his way he shook hands of two men, lit a cigarette for one of them, using his favourite lighter with a bear’s head, that he always had with him. His friends nodded gratefully and went on their business.

Approaching the boss’s caravan, August slowed down, thinking his words over carefully to avoid putting Olga in trouble. He couldn’t tell the truth - a young woman amongst workers was not the best combination. He had to keep it secret for the time being. Of course, he also needed to find a good reason to lie.

The man wanted to come up and knock when the door flung open and Stefenger himself appeared on the threshold. There hardly were any emotions on his face, but August was practically burning with his hateful stare.

_ Son of a bitch!.. _

Stefenger left, smiling complacently, as if he didn’t even notice the man’s hatred. August cooled down a bit and noticed that there was no sign of the usual pattering old man, that followed Stefenger everywhere. Where did he go?..

“August!” the boss faked a happy greeting to the man who entered.

“Hi there. I came for…”

“Let’s drink!” Mikhailovich offered, pouring a bottle of vodka in two faceted glasses with shaking hands. He was particularly pale and frightened today, as if an inspector visited him. Perhaps, this was exactly what had happened.

“Not now. Why did he come in here?” asked August, watching the boss gulp down a whole glass of vodka and sit heavily on a shabby chair.

“Personal matters,” the man mumbled, reaching out for the second glass. “None of your business.”

August was wary. Something serious must have happened if Mikhailovich decided to get drunk in the middle of a working day. And what “personal matters?”

“I need Vladimir’s mattress and sheets,” August said firmly and directly. The boss gestured towards the storeroom indifferently. Well, alcohol did have its advantages.

***

Holding the mattress and the sheets under his armpit, August walked down a familiar path through pines and houses, hurrying to get home as soon as he could and cheer Olga with good news on his little “operation.” Everything around him was unusually quiet: no one left work for so long for the first time. Strange, but his friend’s death only worsened the endless obedience of the workers. And all because of a rumour that Vladimir paid for his long tongue and curses, thrown at Stefenger. August thought it insane, but still blamed the foreigner for his friend’s death.

He turned round one of the houses and jumped back at once. Stefenger stood very close with his back turned on him. Without thinking, August carefully slipped behind the crates and lay low, watching the object of his hatred.

“Yes, sir, of course,” the man must have been talking to his boss. “I understand you perfectly. Yes. I’ll do all I can. You’ll have the papers soon. I need some more time. Of course, I understand that you are tired of waiting, but please… Yes, the man finished the drafts. As far as I know, he has the manuscripts, and the monk died. Oh, trust me, there won’t be a problem. It’s easier than taking a candy from a baby, stealing the drafts from this crazy man. I’ll send them over tomorrow. Yes. Yes. Goodbye, sir,” he pocketed his phone, pulled the cap over his eyes and walked away. August, inspired by a sudden idea, dashed back home to Olga.

Practically falling over inside the caravan, he threw the sheets on the bed and embraced the startled woman tight.

“Olga! Olenka! I have an idea!” he spoke, trying to catch his breath after running.

“Oh my God, what happened? You look so troubled!”

“This jerk will pay for his pride!” he let the woman go and started pacing the room like a mad scientist.

“What are you on about?”

“I just heard Stefenger talking on phone. He spoke about some important papers.”

“Please, don’t tell me you decided to have revenge,” Olga obviously didn’t share his excitement. “You won’t get my brother back like this. And you’ll only get a heavy sin on your soul. Think about it! What are you planning to do?”

“I’ll deprive him of the most precious thing.”

“Oh my God, no, not this…”

“Oh. don’t worry. I don’t talk of paying with blood. I’ll just take his money and respect. And will also help an innocent man. This bastard wants to steal the old man’s drafts and manuscripts, whatever they are. How surprised he’ll be to never find them!”

“I still don’t like this idea, August. Leave him alone. The Lord is his judge, not you!” the woman protested. Then the man came up to her and took her hand.

“I’ll just steal the paper and hide them, that’s it. Do you want to help a poor innocent old man? It’s not revenge, it’s a good deed.”

“I don’t know, August… Where are you going to hide them? Not under the mattress, I hope?”

“Of course not! Far far away from here. Don’t know where yet.”

“If this man is as bad as you say, he won’t forget your tricks.”

“I’m not afraid of him and he doesn’t know about you. It will be alright, you’ll see. I’m sure Vladimir would have done the same.”

The woman sighed and tightened her hold on the man’s hand.

“Please, tell me that you really just want to help another man, and not take revenge for my dear brother.”

“I swear. It’s just a little mischief, too little to be revenge,” said August. Quite believably so.

***

The wheel clattering hit the tense silence. Oscar sat by Kate’s side, after he used the mechanisms of the locomotive to add more coal for warmth.

“So would you tell me?” he asked carefully. “About your guess?”

Kate stayed quiet for a while, staring at one spot and furrowing her brows.

“But you don’t like empty speculation. You like facts, theories, evidence.”

“This time I’ll believe everything you have to say.”

She looked at him cautiously. He could see that she doubted, but wanted to tell him.

“Alright,” she agreed suddenly.  “But then you tell me all you know too. Especially about how you remembered my phone, but not myself. You called me in the monastery, remember? This is where it all began. I want to hear everything. All details, right from the beginning.”

And Oscar told her everything, from the moment he woke up in the hospital of the Blessed Virgin Mary. About his feet, the sisters, the dead woman from the other bunk. With effort he explained about the mystery that sister Elizabeth whispered to him. About his walk through the forest and how he suffered through it. About the monastery and the strange monk, that turned out to be Miss Walker herself.

Kate listened to him without interruption, wondering, how mysteriously and unusually everything turned out within these few weeks. Just like she hurried through the snow towards a dream. It seemed that mammoths were just the beginning of all the unexplained.

“So, the phone they gave you, it already had my number?”

“Yes. And it looks like I called you before. Before I woke up in hospital.”

“But was never answered…” Kate said quietly.

“I think, I remembered you and was looking for you.

“Being another man? And when you didn’t find me, you committed a suicide?” the woman said doubtfully. It was hard to believe. All this wasn’t right, at all.

“Maybe, not because of it… Mister Stefenger knows me. I mean, the man I was before… He called me August. It seems that this man angered him with something.”

“You won’t pay for other’s sins,” the woman said after a short pause. Oscar agreed with her. But there was hardly any choice, as always.

“Your turn,” he said at last, when he felt he could no longer poke through his own life.

The woman lowered her head and ran her fingers through hair, as if trying to find all the answers desperately and find some kind of explanation. It was much easier to believe in mammoths.

“What’s the difference between robots and automatons, Oscar?” she asked suddenly without moving.

“Automatons have souls, Kate Walker,” he replied, looking at the woman as if she asked the equal of 2+2.

“So, all Voralberg automatons have to have a soul, otherwise they are not automatons, right?”

“Right,” Oscar agreed, unsure what Kate was leading to.

“How strange,” she looked up and looked in his eyes. “ I know only two such automatons.

“What do you mean? Do you think there are Mr Voralberg’s notes on automatons in these papers?”

“No, you don’t get it, though you are partly right,” She sat in front of him, and he could finally see playful fire in her eyes. How he missed it! There she is, the real Kate Walker!

“I think,” she continued. “That it’s you and James in these papers.”


	14. Chapter 14

Snowy fields were slowly passing by. A thin strip of forest could be seen only by the horizon line. There was no snow falling, but the sky was still gray without a streak of blue.

“I still don’t understand,” Oscar shrugged. “Please explain. What does it have to do with me and another automaton?”

‘I don’t think it’s about you exactly,” Kate was thinking feverishly how best to explain. “I thought a lot about it… Hans understood this Voralberg factory secret in a wrong way. Too literal. Putting your soul into pieces of art is one thing and making objects alive is different. Hans was always a child, he reacted as it is to all that he saw and learnt. He heard the Siberia legend and believed in it right away. Then he heard about a soul, put in the automatons, and started thinking of them as of living creatures.

She sighed.

“All Voralberg automatons were created with love and devotion, like art. You simply couldn’t call them robots - it would have been wrong.”

“How easy,” Oscar smirked.

“Yes, Hans did the impossible. I think that he has the soul indwelling ritual in these papers. And the drafts bear the project of a heart. Hans made it himself, not even entrusting it to his sister Anna. You and James became true miracles!”

***

**In the forests near Romansburg. Workers’ camp. The end of November, an hour past midnight. 6 years earlier.**

He was sneaking through soft snowdrifts, holding a lantern in one hand. Snow was creaking quietly under the thickness of his boots. The lantern was burning dimly and lighting the tiniest part of path in front of him, so he went almost blindly ahead.

A turn, another one. There was light in one of the houses - he could see it through a tiny icy window. The man crept up close and leaned to the cold wooden wall. He listened in. Somewhere an owl hooted, and then all-enveloping silence fell again. A young fir tree mysteriously lowered its branches.

August put the lantern on the ground and, shaking through and through, warmed his hands with his breathing. His fingers were numb from cold. He craved for his bed and sleeping till morning. The man looked up: a pale disc of the Moon was hanging high, surrounded by scattered stars. The Milky Way was dividing the deep darkness of the sky, much like the black rails were dividing the whiteness of the ground.

August breathed in deep with great enjoyment. What wondrous time, what an amazing place. No, he’d never swap this place with some America, even if it came with a young hot gypsy girl.

The man tried to look inside the house through the tiny window, where the light was on, but the icy swirls prevented him. But he was sure that the elderly man was working there. He saw him in the evening. Frankly, August didn’t expect the man to work late at night with candles as the only light source. He thought he’d go to bed just like all the normal people. It disturbed his plans as he supposed he could sneak inside and finish his job.

_ Damn it _ , he sweared in his mind.

But it seemed fate was on his side today. The moment August was about to give up, the door creaked and a small hunched dark silhouette appeared. It closed the door and walked away through the snowdrifts. He couldn’t miss this chance! The old man could hardly leave for a long walk, perhaps just out of personal needs, so August had to act fast.

Lightning-fast, like a black cat, he sneaked past the leaving man and quietly opened the door of the house. He disappeared inside like an elusive thief.

Inside the house was the same as others, the only difference was that it was designed for one man: a bed, a table, a chair and an oven, that’s it. The table was piled with papers, leaving one tiny spot for a candle in the corner. There was a box with gears, springs, tools and other stuff on the floor.

August realised that he’d never be able to get all this pile of papers and manuscripts out, and he started feverishly searching for something that might be secret documents. This was his mistake.

The door slammed and he turned around sharply to freeze in fear.

***

“Do you want me to be happy about it?”

“I want nothing, Oscar,” the monastery finally disappeared in white haze, just like Romansburg. “And I don’t ask anything of you. I just said what I think. I may be wrong.”

“You are never wrong, Kate Walker.”

“It’s not true. I keep making mistakes. It’s just that I don’t regret some of them.”

“You’ve always done everything right. Whatever happened, you always did and said right things. I’ve never seen you lose your footing.”

“I’m just a human being, Oscar. Don’t make me godly.”

He looked at her reproachfully, and she smiled wryly. 

“It’s not funny.”

“Humor is a concept outside the scope of your functionality” she stretched her arms and her neck. “You know what’s the difference? At least you had a chance to meet your Maker.”

***

“I can explain,” August blurted out, taken by surprise and holding his hands up. “I’m not a thief, I swear.”

“I know,” the old man said quietly, locking the door. “Will you help me?”

“What?” August wasn’t expecting such a reaction. Asking for help from someone who broke into your home was at least stupid.

“I can’t read them,” the elderly man pattered to his table and pulled some yellowish manuscripts from under the drafts pile. His shaking hands gave them to August. “Read them to me!”

August took the papers suspiciously, forgetting that he actually came to steal them. The old man, without paying him any more attention, started poking through his drafts.

“Actually, I came to say… I mean, to warn you against Stefenger,” he finally came round. “He wants to steal your papers. You must be careful, gramps, don’t leave the house unlocked when you leave. Actually, in your age it’s not the best idea to go out for a walk in such cold, and not sleeping at night too. Well, forewarned is forearmed, right? Let’s forget about this. You go to sleep, and I’ll just leave this scribble here and leave.”

August wanted to put the manuscripts on the edge of the table, but the old man grabbed his hand suddenly.

“Now! You must help me!” he burst in terrible coughing.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I finished the heart. I only need to hold a ritual, but I don’t know how to mix herbs and what to say. It’s written here, but I can’t read it!” he was looking at the man with his clear but mad eyes.

“Alright, gramps, I admit it, you terrified me alright,” August tried to free his hand, but the old man had a good grasp on it. “I swear I’ll never get in anyone’s house ever again. And the rest of my life I’ll live by law. Won’t lie, won’t loiter…. What other sins there were… I’ll even go to church!”

August tried to turn it into a joke, but the old man still didn’t let him go.

“You came here for them! For the manuscripts!”

“I did, but I wasn’t going to read them, I…” August fell silent, realising that he said too much already. And if he did, there was no need in trying to get out. “I wanted to hide them, okay?”

He pulled his hand out and stepped back.

“To piss Stefenger off. Though if I could, I would have slit his throat!” The man sighed. “I don’t want blood on my hands and I don’t want to upset Olga. And she thinks that I’m helping you. And she may be right, because I do you a favour.”

“Not true. You are not capable of murder.”

The man bravely endured the old man’s piercing look.

“You are wrong. How would you know?”

“I’m never wrong!” The old man leaned on the table and thrust the papers in August’s hands. “I’ll give them to you if you read it out for me.”

“And the drafts?”

“Yes.”

“Deal,” August agreed.

***

A cold northern night was approaching inevitably. The train was racing down the rails, and the opened on both sides cabin of the mechanical locomotive was ice winded through. Two travelers were sitting on the floor, wrapping up in warm fur coats and watching the fire. They seemed to be taken out of a prehistoric age.

“It wasn’t that cold before,” Oscar said, his teeth chattering.

“Yeah, till you were thrown in a snowdrift,” Kate reminded him.

“Do you think if it was done again, I’d feel better?”

“Do you want me to feel guilty because you got cold and didn’t heal from your tediousness? I saved your life.”

“You are angry,” he said.

“No, I am not,” she said in a softer voice. “It’s the cold.”

“No, you  _ are _ angry. I can see that.”

“And you are never pleased. I could tell you several reasons why it’s worth it, being a human. And you could tell me the same but about automatons. Call it a friendly argument.”

“I didn’t know you like games of chance, Kate Walker.”

“You have no cash, so let’s play for wishes. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed. “Small sensitivity to cold. Your turn.”

She suddenly moved close to him and lowered her head on his shoulder.

“Big sensitivity to warmth. Your move.”

***

“What the hell is this? A potion recipe? Gramps, are you a sorcerer?” August was obviously nervous, watching the old men search the herbs, that he pulled from under his pillow. They were wrapped in burlap fabric, and some of them were already boiling in a pot, that stood on the fuel stove.

“Next!” Hans stopped the flood of questions.

“Alright, alright, just please don’t get mad. Eh… ‘A blue grass flower’”, the man read slowly, squinting his eyes. “Heh, blue grass… Like in a fairytale, huh?”

Ignoring the questions, the old man took the needed ingredient and limped to the stove. August used the moment and looked closely at all the objects on the table.

“Hey, what’s this crazy shit?” He reached out for a strange spherical metal object, slightly elongated, lying in the center of the desk on a wooden platform. The old man put it there recently.

“Don’t touch it!” the old man shouted hoarsely without looking around, and the young man pulled his hand away.

“Didn’t really want to anyway,” August said, pouting. “You really are crazy.”

“Next.”

August got closer to the candle, turned the yellow page over and started trying to make out wide handwriting.

“It says that you need scarlet blackberry sprigs and roots of some Siberian… br… br…”

“Briar,” Hans finished.

All the ingredients were immediately thrown to boil in a pot, over which mysteriously hissing green smoke appeared. It looked quite terrifying, and August remembered all his childhood stories about witches, ghosts and other nightly monsters. But now these fairytales became strangely real…

“What the…” he startled, when a loud bird scream rang right next to the window. August flinched out of surprise and looked around to see a hardly distinguishable owl silhouette outside. The bird was sitting on the windowsill from the other side, its head tilted, eyes staring through a tiny part of window that was not yet covered with icy swirls. The man could see its bright yellow eyes through the glass.

August stumbled, holding onto the table, and sat onto the chair, his heart hurting dully. Perhaps, it was simply fear.

The old man didn’t even raise his brow, hurried towards the window and touched the icy glass with his hand. He stared at the snow white owl and said quietly:

“A-aa-name, nama-a-let, toom-tehet. Vatet!”*

_ *There’s no direct translation. Can be read like a prayer to the spirit, asking for mercy and help in some important matter. _

The bird stared at August for a while and then noisily spread its wings, soared into the air and disappeared.

“You’ll drive me to an early grave, gramps!” he exclaimed, his hand on his heart. “I didn’t sign up for these tricks.”

“Read on,” the old man spoke without paying him any attention. And now August was truly scared. Now he was terrified like never before. He was in terror, true terror.

And in the meantime, green smoke kept pouring out of the pot, like from the chimney, going up to the ceiling and filling the whole room.

***

“Have you ever been scared during our journey?”

“Of course, and more than once,” Kate replied to Oscar, watching the fire in the furnace. “Did you have your doubts?”

“No, you managed to convince me not to be afraid.”

“Hm,” she smiled tiredly. “Sounds ambiguous. And both meanings feel right. Surprising. Do you remember how you had to put on a kind spirit’s mask to stop the youkols from being afraid of you?”

“There were so many events on our trip, and you had to remember this humiliating moment!” He was angered, but Kate laughed reservedly. “What’s so funny?”

“No, it’s just… It was so cute.”

“Was it?”

“Not you, but your action! You said you were doing this only for me, but I think you did it for the youkols. And it’s not even about the train. Just like me, you wanted to help them stop being afraid. It was so…” she paused, searching for the best word, but it kept escaping her. “... so wholehearted.”

“Sincerity,” he said finally.

“Is it your move?”

“Yes. Automatons are always sincere.”

Kate fell silent for a while, lost in her thoughts, but she couldn’t come up with anything better to reply.

Check…

***

Soon the greenish steam was joined by the same green smoke. Together they created a perfect tandem, hanging beneath the ceiling, covering it from the careful glance of a young man, holding a yellowish page. He thought that some strange deity decided to stuff this house with a whole stormcloud, and it was about to roar with thunder.

The old man removed the smoking pot from the stove, let it cool down a bit and poured all the liquid right on the floor. It started smelling terribly right away. He turned the pot over, grabbed some long piece of metal or a tool like an adjustable spanner and hit the bottom of the pot. Dull “booooom” echoed all over the room.

“What are you doing?!” August shouted, covering his ears.

“Read!” said Hans, hitting the pot again. “I don’t have a tambourine like the youkols shaman does, but we need the hits.”

“Read what?” The man looked back at the page. “I don’t get it. There are strange words, as if from another language, though letters are familiar. It’s not a curse, is it?”

There were soft noises on the roof. August looked up but saw nothing but green smoke, of course.

“The harfangs,” the old man explained. “They guard the spirit gates. They like people coming to them, but they don’t like us leaving. They’ll be trying to interfere, we need to hurry. Read. Read everything you see.”

“Maybe you will do it?”

“No, I can’t! Read!”

The man had his doubts and was frightened, but stared at the manuscripts and whispered in the lowest voice.

“Toona-a-an! Taboo ne-e,” the old man kept on hitting the pot, filling the room with a terrible clunking noise. “Kabe-ebe, ole toon-toon-ne. Ah ne-kootoo-oo…”

The moment he was about to finish the phrase, when he heard piercing screeches and screams from the roof. The birds went mad, trying to get inside the house. Two of them were trying to hit through the window, some more - through the door, others - through the roof. August could hear them through the clunking noises, how they hit their way through without pitying their bodies, wings and claws. Their anger was worse than anger of a thousand of gods.

“Don’t stop!” Hans shouted.

“Koom-vateb set collage,” August went on, his body shaking wildly. He was hot, his ears were ringing, there was mist before his eyes. The smoke began swirling down, towards the strange object on the table. “A… A-ne-kootoo-oo…”

He spoke with his legs giving way. His mind was blurry.

_ “August!” “О-о-очи чёрные-э!”  _

He could hear the strange sounds, but he shook his head, fighting the auditory hallucinations away.

“Soo-oom sat - toon-ka ek-kmost, sagan-dailet…”

_ “A man with a summer name!” _ he heard in his head again.  _ “I can tell you a fairytale instead.” “О-очи страстные-э.” “An island, where mammoths live and blue grass grows.” “To America!” “И прекрасные-э!” _

The hits were speeding up. August felt worse and worse. His eyes were closing, he wanted to fall asleep, but try and sleep in such a noise! The birds were screeching, the improvised pot drum was ripping his head apart with its clunking and drone. The man staggered.

_ “Some time will pass and we ourselves will be buried beneath the soil.” “Our death is his grace.” “Give me hope…” “Memento mori”. _

“Toontook-at, olet maavatoo-dai…” he finished the last phrase and collapsed without anything to lean on, losing his breath.

Some birds managed to get through the roof and were now madly circling around the hut, bringing chaos. The hits fell silent, the smoke under the ceiling shivered - and suddenly it swirled down into the mechanical heart, lying on the table. Everything fell silent all at once.

The last thing August remembered before passing out was a vision. He saw the heavens break and two huge yellow owl eyes stared down at him reproachfully.

“Oscar…” a gentle female voice called him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Forests close to Romansburg. Working camp. The end of November, about 7AM. 6 years till 200*.**

The man woke up under junk and dirt that fell from the roof, which was now holey. There was total silence. The birds had disappeared, leaving chaos behind. They had damaged the roof alright, almost broke the window (it had several cracks), torn the pillow for some reason and scattered the pages all around.

Waiting for the haze in his head to dissolve, August made an effort to turn on his side and sit up, leaning on his arm. His head and right shoulder were hurting: he must have hit something upon landing. He felt nauseated, as if he was on a carousel for far too long.

Coughing out dust, the man looked around and noticed the old man, lying by the table motionless. The infamous pot was beside him, and his face was covered with some draft.

“Hey, gramps…” August called him quietly, as if fearing the return of the chaos. “Gramps, are you alive? Hey? Damn it…”

The old man wasn’t moving or responding, so August had to crawl to him on all fours. He removed the draft off his face and breathed out with relief, hearing hoarse breathing.

“Great, you’re alive,” he lightly slapped the old man on the cheeks. “Gramps, wake up! Can you hear me? Come on, wake up!”

Hans groaned and coughed.

“Now, let’s go and get some fresh air.”

August got up timidly, and did the same to the old man, then dragging him to the exit. The heavy latch was moved to the right sharply and the two men were staring into the silent dawn, breathing in fresh northern morning air.

August settled the old man by the doorjamb, and sat right on the threshold himself, enjoying the cold air. Hans watched him from under half-closed eyelids.

“You helped me,” the old man said hoarsely.

“You say that, gramps,” August laughed, “as if no one ever does. Though it’s not surprising. Could you tell me what the hell happened? I hope I didn’t curse anyone?”

“Have you heard about Syberia?” Hans asked after a short pause.

“The place where the blue grass grows? Well, yeah, heard it from one girl. What about this fairytale?”

“I will travel by train. To find Syberia.”

“So it’s true, that Stefenger is building the rails for you?” August was truly surprised. He thought that the American is working only for his boss and would gain something from the railways. But what profit can you get from the mythical island? Couldn’t Stefenger be working at a loss? Or all this epopee was for nothing but the strange papers and manuscripts? It was hard to swallow… “What have you promised him?”

“Not him. His boss.”

“Alright. What did you promise him for building this railway road? Piles of gold? Some old enchantments? These manuscripts, that I read?” August went on, looking into old man’s bright eyes.

“No, not the manuscripts. I learnt about them later when I saw James. I talked to Helena about them. She called it “insane, but in a good way”. Yes, this is what she said. Yes.”

“Is Helena your wife?”

“No,” Hans replied, making it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Who’s James?” August shivered: the morning was way too chilly for November.

“An automaton. I put him together. I was assisted, just like you helped me now. I went to the shaman.”

“Wait, so it’s not the first time you did this? What a strange ritual for the engineer or a designer.”

“Each automaton has a soul,” the old man coughed and then explained. “The mechanical heart holds it. I needed another soul for another automaton.”

“Aa-alright, I see…” the young man scratched his head and walked around the crispy snow. Hans stood still. “You know, I’m just a worker. I don’t care about… all this… mysticism. I’ve heard enough scary stories as a child. I simply came to steal your papers and you… dragged me in this weird story.”

“Are you angry?”

“No, It’s just… I don’t understand,” August shrugged. “Why me? Why not Stefenger, for example? You trust him, don’t you?”

“Never,” the old man laughed. “And you came to me yourself.”

“But I can… tell others about these manuscripts. What happens then?”

“You won’t. And you won’t give the Stefenger the papers,” Hans rose, leaning on the doorjamb, and slowly returned back home. August had to agree.

“You are a genius, gramps!” August laughed.

The sky was brightening. The stars and the moon were melting, dark blue night was giving way to bright white day. Only the pine trees became the same, standing still and propping up the sky. Their pointy tops looked rough on the gentle blue canvas of the sky.

The man listened to the silence a bit more and followed the man back inside. The moment he stepped on the threshold, he dashed forward and grabbed a candle out of Hans’s hand, as he was holding it dangerously close to the papers.

“Hey, hey! What the hell are you doing? These are my papers! Now…” he shouted, hiding the papers in the bosom.

“It’s best if they disappear. It will be better for everyone.”

“Oh, no! I’ll decide what will happen to them. I’ll have time to burn them, you just don’t interfere. By the way, we spoke of the drafts too. Where are they?”

“No,” the old man objected.

“Gramps, we had a deal. You are breaking the rules. Give me the drafts! I’m not kidding here.”

“Are you following the rules then?” Hans reluctantly handed paper rolls to August.

“Of course, when it comes to papers I become a terrible bureaucrat,” the man said sarcastically. “Don’t worry. You are right, I won’t give them to Stefenger, and he won’t get them by force. I’ll hide them so well, that he’ll never find them.”

“Where?”

“I’ve got an idea… I’ll visit a friend as well. Mysticism to religion, religion to religion… You know?” August smiled. “One fanatic against another one. Fight fire with fire, they say… You are not afraid of the Prior’s anger?”

The old man smiled and nodded.

“Good. Well, see you, gramps.” He almost left the house but turned around on the threshold. “You haven’t said what you promised Stefenger for his work. What’s the price of the rails? What did you offer him and his boss?”

“Everything,” was the old man’s response.

***

**The male monastery close to Romansburg. December 1, same year. 45 minutes past 9 AM.**

The elevator was going up slowly, holding two passengers: August, who was standing with his eyes shut and who was fighting bad thoughts off, and a fat monk of the unpleasant appearance.

It was stifling inside the elevator and the air smelled bad with wet cassocks.

“Are you afraid of height?” the monk asked slyly.

“What do you care?” the man mumbled rudely.

“Lord sends us fears to try our soul. It’s not a sin to be afraid. Have you come to visit your friend? You can pray for his peace or ask the Prior to do it,” the monk babbled.

August listened to the quiet hum of the gears and imagined Romansburg drown in fog. He visioned the monastery cupolas appearing closer, hanging like dark clouds. The metal floor of the elevator seemed unstable and was moving from under the feet.

What if the cable breaks, how long would they fly down? Perhaps, an eternity… What a stupid death it would be. Pointless. But quick and painless.

The elevator flinched and finally stopped, the doors opened. August hurried to step onto the pebble ground. The monk followed, trying to hurry after the man, who was making large steps towards the main square.

“The monastery territory is large,” he decided to change topic, knowing that the monk wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Yes-yes, tee-hee… There is everything one needs to live and to serve God,” the monk said gaspingly.

“What, for example?”

“Curious about our facades? Would you like to, tee-hee, join the modest brothers, worshipping faith?”

“No, I’m just…”  _ I want to hide some pagan manuscripts, so that no one ever finds them _ \- he couldn’t say it aloud. “So… where did you say I could pray for my friend’s peace?”

***

The man, breathing in the incense, quietly slipped past a tall grid, that divided the bell room from the main temple hall. The silence, high ceiling and the wall were pressing down on him. In such a place you have no choice but to try and have faith. Just like when you get in a top-drawer, you start imitating an aristocrat. 

August walked across the empty room, looking around and daring to touch nothing. Finally he stopped in the center and looked up to see a half blurred out fresco.

“The Trinity…” he whispered.

“That is right, my son,” someone spoke from behind, and August turned around. Behind him, with his hands in a praying gesture, the Prior was standing. He hadn’t changed one bit since their last meeting, but was still gloomy, dry and never turning away from the Lord’s face. “Father, Son and Holy Spirit. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. God creates all with the Word - with the Only Begotten Son and the Holy Spirit. Our God is triune!”

The Prior brought his arms up, and only his lips were moving in praying. Then he woke up and looked at August.

“What do you need, child?”

“No, I just… came to pray for my friend.”

“Ah, I prayed for him! His soul found peace in Heavens, enjoying eternal life.”

“I’ll stay here for a while.”

“As you wish,” somewhat sharply replied the Prior and disappeared behind a curtain, leaving him alone.

August stared again into peaceful faces of the angels. They all were connected with the ultimate goal, being the unified, eternal, ubiquitos and all-good, and he stood there before him, feeling guilty and little. Guilt either for the lack of faith, or for the doubts, or for the apostasy. And feeling little… Perhaps, it was then that he realised how little sense his life made. He worked, got mere pittance for it, slept, ate, sometimes got drunk, sometimes wandered the forest, knowing that his loitering would be covered. He had no family, no career, no dream. His only friend passed away. Why was he still alive? What was the point?

Finally the man sighed heavily, crossed himself and walked away to find a good place for something that would become a fly in the sacred ointment.

He quickly crossed the square and turned before another massive door, that led into the library. August didn’t look inside before, but he knew of its existence, much like about the cells, where he had to sleep while the Prior pretended to look after Vladimir.

There were continuous bookshelves, placed in a circle and going up in a spiral. Some monks were sitting at the tables downstairs. The man walked up the stairs and without much thinking started pushing the papers among different books, and the drafts - in the furthest of the shelves. Steps behind frightened him, and he hurried to leave the place unnoticed.

Approaching the elevator, August noticed the infamous monk, that smiled in the most disgusting way.

“What, tee-hee, are you leaving already? How is your friend?”

“He won’t get worse,” said August gloomily, entering the elevator.

The monk laughed in an unkind manner.

“What was his name, Vladimir, right? And yours?”

“August,” the man said right before the doors shut and the elevator began its descent.

***

**Forests close to Romansburg. Working camp. December 1, same year, evening.**

The man returned to the camp by dusk. He felt extremely exhausted, and he dreamt of finally getting in bed, wrapping up in blanket and falling asleep. Even more so, he wanted to embrace Olga, see her gentle tired smile, listen to her firm voice that she would use to tell him off. Perhaps, he wouldn’t tell her about the incident with the old man. He’d just say that the old man himself gave him the papers, when he heard about Stefenger’s plan. Yes, that would do.

Nearing his house, he noticed a lantern flickering, heard a lot of arguing voices. Turning round the corner, he froze in bewilderment. Almost the whole working camp was crowding at his door, that was flung open; his trunk was dragged outside and emptied.

“What’s going on?!” August protested, pushing people away to get inside. All the workers fell silent at once, whispering quietly.

Finally managing to squeeze through the crowd and getting inside his house, the man could see frightened Olga, sitting in the corner of the bed, holding a cross from her neck chain. Stefenger, as a black stone statue, stood by the window. Two other men were brushing through the house like dogs: knocking on the walls, poking the floor planks, checking under the bed and inside the bed sheets.

“What the hell is going on?” August shouted again and the two strangers stopped at once, looking at Stefenger for orders. He stared at August coldly.

“Where are the papers?”

“What fucking papers are you talking about? Get the hell out of my home!” August had enough hatred to this man and it finally had a chance to burst out. Tense silence hang in the air outside: the workers, holding their breath, were watching the conflict.

“You are making it hard. Give us the papers, and we’ll leave.”

“I couldn’t care less what I’m making hard or not, you son of a bitch. I don’t know what papers you are talking about.”

“Stop pretending, I know you have them,” Stefenger shouted, clenching his fist on leather gloves and making them creak. “What if my boys find them?”

“Please, be my guest. You can even search  _ me _ . Sniff till nightfall, you won’t find anything.”

“Yes, indeed, we have already searched everything…” the man suddenly changed his tone to a softer one and paced the room. “We’ll search you too, of course, and will likely find nothing, How about your girlfriend, huh?”

“I don’t have them” Olga squeaked pitifully.

“Search her,” Stefenger ordered and one of the “boys” stepped towards the woman.

“August!”

“Don’t you dare, asshole!” the man dashed forward, but the other bull caught him. Stefenger gestured in the air for them to stop, approached August and looked in his eyes.

“Where are they?”

“Go to hell!” the man said angrily and offhandedly spit in the opponent's face, but missed. Stefenger turned away, and the man who wanted to search Olga, kicked August in his stomach, and to finish him off smashed his fist across August’s face.

The woman on the bed screamed and covered her face. August spit blood on the floor.

“Do you know what is in the papers?” Stefenger asked calmly.

“No,” August lied and got another blow in his face, now from the left side.

“You do know, or you wouldn’t steal them.”

“I stole them because I knew you needed them. I don’t know what’s written in them .”

“I’ll never believe this nonsense! Anyone in your place would read it first and then hide, but if you don’t want to make it easy,” he pushed his hand in a pocket, pulled out a gun and aimed at August.

“Oh God, August, please, tell him!” Olga cried in despair.

“No use in dead me.”

“That’s true,” Stefenger agreed and moved the barrel of the gun at Olga. “Now it’s better. So, where are the papers?”

He cocked the trigger.

“Where?”

“I burnt them,” August hissed, shaking with hatred and pain.

Endless, tormenting half a minute passed. The men burnt each other with stares, Olga could barely breathe with fear, the two “bulls” were indifferent.

“If it’s true, then your act cost me much. I hope you are happy. I could shoot you down like a dog for your silly actions, but very well…” He hid the gun. “We’ll say it’s a draw.”

He said uncertainly and walked towards the exit. The crowd stepped aside respectfully.

The bulls threw the man down and left. August, holding onto his stomach, limped to the door and slammed it closed.

***

“What shall we do now?” Olga asked, staring into the darkness. “August? I know you are not sleeping.”

“How do you know?” he said in a not so sleepy voice.

“You snore when you sleep.”

“Do I?” he said playfully, but Olga wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I knew it was a bad idea with these papers, why didn’t you listen. Now he’ll definitely kill us, you’ll see. First they’ll shoot me before your eyes, then you.”

“I don’t think it will be his revenge. Besides, I read those papers and he needs what’s written in them.”

“So he’ll never leave you alone. And that old man? Why won’t he go to him?”

“This gramps is mad,” August waved it aside. “And Stefenger knows it well. His boss needs him. I just stole part of what he may get.”

“I’m still scared…” Olga whispered into the darkness. “It’s not an end, August. Did you really burn the papers?”

“Manuscripts don’t burn.”

“I’m serious, August. Did you burn them?”

“No,” he said honestly.

“So, this man will come back. He won’t give up till he beats the truth out of you.”

“I know,” he agreed. “Let’s leave.”

He hang down from the upper bunk to look at the slightly distinguishable female silhouette.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Just leave. I can get you home, and I’ll start a new life.”

“With you,” Olga said, standing up from her bed and gently touching August’s cheek.

“What? Leave?”

“Start a new life,” she came closer, rose on her toes and kissed August’s lips tenderly.


	16. Chapter 16

**North-East of Russia. 300km away from Romansburg (heading to Aralbad) and 5 km away from Chernizovo village. February 9, 200*. 8PM.**

The woman, wrapped in heavy tarpaulin fabric from head to toes, was propelling through snowdrifts and snowstorm towards the railroad. Outraged wind was trying to knock Kate down and she had to try and balance to avoid falling in snow and lose heart. She could see the train through white whisks of snow. Being just 5 meters away from the locomotive, Kate took a break and stopped to catch her breath. Her hands and lips were trembling from cold.

“Oscar!” Kate shouted, but her voice was carried away by wind. “Oscar!!”

She shouted at the top of her voice, improvising a mouthpiece with her palm. Finally, a shape appeared in the cabin entrance, and the woman made a few more steps towards him.

“Oscar, I beg you, stop torturing both myself and yourself. Come inside!”

“I can’t, Kate Walker,” she heard his voice faintly. “I can’t leave the train.”

“Nothing will happen to it. Please, be sensible!”

“I must stay in the cabin!” he insisted, but Kate could hear that he was frozen even through the howling snowstorm.

“You don’t owe anyone anymore! You are not a driver now!” The woman really wanted to go back into warmth as soon as she could, and Oscar’s stubborn attitude angered her. She didn’t realise at first that what she said was wrong. The silhouette disappeared into the cabin.

Kate cursed indecently and approached the cabin, right to its ladder. The woman knew that if he refused to leave, she’d have to give up warmth too, including comfortable sleeping. She couldn’t leave him. She gave up all her friends, built walls to repel all that was dear to her, she left everything, but couldn’t leave him. Maybe earlier she could, but now - no. And she wanted to believe that it wasn’t just fear to lose the last thing she cherished.

“Will you leave me here? In cold?”

“Nothing keeps you here,” he said dryly. “Leave.”

“I can’t. I won’t leave without you,” when he said nothing, she added. “I won’t leave till you come outside. I’ll die from cold right here, and your passenger will be my corpse!”

A few long minutes later, much to Kate’s surprise and relief, frozen Oscar went down the ladder obediently with a backpack on his shoulders. The woman took his arm and covered him with a part of her tarpaulin fabric piece, keeping him safe from the wind.

“I’m sorry for ‘driver’”, she apologized.

“No, you were right,” he nodded.

“Sir!” someone called them from the train and the two turned around. A young man, the one that helped Stefenger drive, was waving at them from the cabin. “Don’t worry! I’ll look after it. Go!”

“Thank you!..” Kate shouted in return, when it suddenly occurred to her that she doesn’t know this man’s name. “Thanks!”

And then, fighting their way through the storm together, they went on, knee deep in snowdrifts.

The train was staying on the forest edge. There were small mountains by its left side, framed by groups of fir trees. On the right side there were young pine trees, whose trunks were reaching out to the sky. Nothing could be seen ahead because of the white snow wall.

Kate and Oscar successfully made their way from the railway to the forest and were happy that the trees were stopping some of the wind. Soon enough they found a small lawn with a lone hut. It could seem absolutely comfortless but for the dim light in its windows.

Stepping onto the askew porch, the woman pushed hard onto the door, opening it, and then made the same effort to close it as both herself and her companion were inside. The dark inner porch was warm and dry.

“Are you alright?” Kate asked. “I can’t see you.”

“Yes,” Oscar replied, catching his leg on something metal like a bucket.

“Be careful, there’s a lot of junk here,” the woman felt the wall with her left hand and kept walking along it till she found the door handle. Pulling it, she opened the second door, leading inside the house itself. It created a warm stripe of light on the floor. They could smell Russian stove. “Come here.”

Letting Oscar come inside first, Kate stepped over a high threshold and closed the heavy door tightly.

The inside of the house was quite different from the outside. It seemed dark, cold, lonely and tumble-down, its roof sunken from the outside. But the moment you stepped inside, you felt you could stay here for entire winter. A massive brick stove was scarlet blazing inside, giving its warmth to the hut. There was no wind howling, only quiet log crackling and loud snore of a sleeping bearded man on the stove.

“It’s the house owner,” Kate explained quietly. “He’s a hungter. Mr Stefenger’s acquaintance.”

“And where is he himself?” Oscar asked, staring at the snoring man.

“In the room next to this. He’s sleeping too and asked not to be woken up.

The woman shook the snow off the tarpaulin and spread it out next to the stove, then took off her jacket and put it on a wall nail.

The main room with the stove was small, but spacy because of how little furniture it had. It only had a table by the window, a chair, a few benches and two shabby armchairs, looking worse than in the Romansburg hunter’s hut. There were some shelves, hanging askew and filled with food cans, groats and other nonperishables.

“Oscar,” Kate put her hand on his shoulder, noticing how he was still watching the sleeping man. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no… I just… got lost.”

“Alright. Try to sleep, you might not get another chance to be in warmth for a while. Don’t over think and don’t torture yourself with questions. Just… be yourself, okay? I’ll prepare tea.”

She took two aluminium mugs from the shelf and put them on the table. Oscar decided that she was right and he settled in one of the armchairs, watching Kate curiously.

“It’s a beautiful sweater,” he said swiftly.

“Thank you,” she replied perplexed, looking flushed from the compliment. She opened the tea leaves box and put some in both mugs. “An ordinary sweater. Why are you interested in it all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged sincerely. “Maybe, because it has patterns.”

“Patterns?” The woman looked down to study her sweater. Indeed, she had a line of strange swirls, surrounding her chest. “Well, yes…”

She agreed distractedly, suppressing a smile.

Water in a cauldron next to the stove was still hot. Kate only had to pour it in the mugs, and as she did that, the room was filled with a pleasant herbal smell. Thin swirls of steam were rising from the mugs, creating intricate clouds over them.

Oscar took his mug from the table, so did Kate, getting into another armchair and drawing her legs up. Despite the roaring storm outside, this evening promised to be warm and soulful.

“You are thinking about it again,” Kate muttered discontentedly, making a few sips of tea.

“What?” Oscar glanced away from the storm outside the window.

“About the train. I can see it by your face. Nothing will happen to it.”

“I know. It’s just… not easy. Everything.”

“You just need to get used to it and that’s it,” she cheered him up with a nod. “Soon it will be normal.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. People get used to many things in due time.”

“Is it your move?” he asked slyly, warming his hands round the mug.

“No,” she said thoughtfully. “I’ll come up with something better.”

Silence fell. Oscar scratched his right cheek, noting that since he left the hospital, his stubble had grown quite a bit.

“If you are going to shave, leave the moustache,” Kate said with the mug close to her mouth, making her voice sound distorted. “I like it.”

“Why?”

“Well, for the same reason that you like my sweater patterns.”

The man, it seemed, didn’t understand what exactly Miss Walker meant, while Kate was mentally telling herself off for playing cat and mouse with Oscar’s mind. He was still quite ignorant in many issues, staying an automaton still. It amused Kate, much as his fussing and care amused her before.

They finished their tea in silence. Kate left the mugs unwashed, thinking that tomorrow they might need them anyway. Oscar was soon drowsy from all the warmth, and unnoticeably he fell asleep. Now the room was filled with two men’s snoring.

“Good night, Oscar,” she said belatedly, then got up and close the stove, making the room dark. Waiting for her eyes to get accustomed to darkness, she returned to her armchair and tried to fall asleep, but… Darn it.

She had already got used to Oscar’s snoring during their travel. There it was easier to fall asleep with train’s rocking and wheel clattering, that overwhelmed other sounds. But now it was quiet, and two men were making terrible snoring noises. 20 minutes later Kate gave up her attempts to sleep, 15 minutes later she gave up any hope for trying to shut the men up with all the various methods of fighting snoring.

No, it’s unbearable, impossible!

Back in New York when she had important deals or just sleepless night, she’d take some sleeping pills, and sleep found her easily. Her neighbours could drill the walls and she wouldn’t have heard.

What else used to help her? It seemed that she fell asleep easily after having wild sex with Dan, but he wasn’t here, and oh my God, how long ago all this was. How long was her last time anyway? Half a year ago? A year ago? More? How did Dan look like, what colour were his eyes? When was his birthday? And Olivia’s?

_ Can’t remember… _

What was Mr Marson’s secretary’s name? Which days did mother make apple pie?

_ Can’t remember a thing. _

Time was mercilessly wiping her memories away. Kate could still remember the combination of the flutes to call the mammoths, she could even remember how to restore the clocks from the strange dream, but she couldn’t remember the name of the magazine she was subscribed to for 7 years. It terrified her and left her no hope for sleeping at all.

She rose and entered the inner porch, following her spontaneous fear and pacing back and forth. She had to think of something she could still remember.

_ I remember the apartment. What did I have there? First, the hall: a rug, a side table, a clothes hanger. What was on it? Can’t remember.. Come on! A coat and a scarf. Then, the hall and the wardrobe, kitchen to the left and living room to the right, then the bedroom and the bathroom. Curtains! Mother said she didn’t like my curtains. Why? Oh why didn’t she like them? _

Kate tripped over the same bucket that Oscar caught on. It betrayed her with tremendous noise and rolled somewhere away, till it hit something glassy, confirmed by a tinkling sound.

Oscar woke from the noise. The house owner only turned on his other side and snored quieter.

“Kate Walker?” Oscar whispered for her, trying to find her silhouette in the darkness but failing to.

In the meantime, Kate was feverishly trying to light a match off the matchbox to see what her hysterics caused. Couldn’t follow her own advice to stop over thinking and asking stupid questions - what a foolish girl! And all she needed was to fall asleep.  _ I need to fall asleep! _

The lit up match illuminated one bit of the dark room. It turned out that the bucket hit a bottle crate. And there wasn’t just one crate. Kate kneeled by one of them, lit another match up and took the bottle from the crate. Vodka. A carved bottom, a beautiful sticker, brand icons - it looked like an expensive and good drink. How could a hunter, living practically in the middle of a forest, have several crates of such good quality vodka? Well, that wasn’t the point.

Kate waited for the match burn to her fingers and blew it out. She sat for a while motionless. Then she slowly opened the bottle. Alcohol couldn’t solve her problems, but it could fill the void inside and let her sleep. And so it was decided.

Now Oscar couldn’t sleep. He had waited for Kate long enough to start worrying. Where did she go? Maybe, something has happened? Some part of him was restless to go and search for her, another part insisted that Miss Walker had disappeared several times before and returned alive and well, so there was no need for panic.

His wordless battle continued up until the point when the porch doors opened and Kate entered, staggering.

“Kate Walker, where have you been? What was that noise? Has something happened?” he whispered worriedly, rising from the armchair. Kate replied none of his questions, just found her own armchair and tried to hold onto its back, still staggering. Well, she got drunk alright. “Are you well? What… what is this smell?”

“I needed to get drunk, and so I did,” she explained sincerely, making long pauses between the words. “I just want to sleep. And you and that goon make enough noise to sound like a plane.”

“It’s absolutely unacceptable!” he exclaimed, trying to stop his voice from turning into shouting. “What can I conclude about you now? Outrage! How can you resort to such a rough and most disgusting method? You, with your beauty and intelligence and strength of mind! No, I will not let you waste your health in such a manner! You know what, now I’m going to be guided by rule number 8, point 3, and it says “Passengers are prohibited from drinking alcohol”. And you, Kate Walker, regardless of what you want, are my passenger. I couldn’t care less about this Stefenger, you are  _ my _ passenger. Mine and mine alone. Got it?”

“Good God…” she stared at him in shock, sobering up a little. “Say it again…”

“Say wha…” he had no chance to ask or think anything else. She pounced on him, grabbing his sweater collar and kissing him wildly.

Oscar didn’t expect such a reaction and he staggered back, falling into his armchair with Kate in his arms, trapping himself in a corner. He had no way to step back, and all he had left to do was to be pressed in the armchair, realising with each second clearer, that all his rationalism, that he relied on, was simply dissolving in the wave of emotions.

“Kate Walker.. I… this is… wrong,” he attempted one last try of rebellion, when she broke their kiss only to settle closer to him.

“Shut up. This is my move,” she cut him off, pulling her sweater off and throwing it somewhere by the armchair.

Now Oscar realised that he couldn’t care less about the patterns of her sweater, when she wasn’t wearing it.

“I give up. You won…”

“Too early…”

***

Morning cold made Oscar shiver and wake up slowly from deep slumber. His nose, fingers and toes were frozen, his body was shaking slightly

The stove got cold through the night, but the house still kept warmth, even if it wasn’t as good as last night. The storm calmed down: there were no more snow gusts outside, only windless air, motionless snowdrifts and dark pine tree trunks.

Oscar yawned and stretched, remembering last night happenings. The room was quiet, the house owner was gone: he wasn’t on the stove, neither was Kate. The door to the nearby room, where Stefenger must have slept, was wide open. The house was empty.

Oscar rose slowly, buttoned his shirt up and tucked it in his trousers. He found his other clothes, sweater and jacket, on another armchair, folded neatly. No other hints of what happened here just some hours ago. Let it stay a good dream. The best one.

Having dressed, Oscar left the house, stepping down the porch and falling knee high in snow. He breathed fresh coniferous air deeply and listened to tinkling silence.

The house stood still in the solitary lawn, just like a man, who was staring far, left to be empty all the same.

“Finally you woke up,” Oscar heard a female voice and turned around with a relieved sigh. “It’s almost 11 in the morning. Stefenger is so nervous, so we’d better hurry.”

Kate walked down the steps, holding Oscar’s backpack that he forgot in the house.

“I thought…”

“That I forgot about you and left? Or that I drank?” Oscar took his backpack from her hands, throwing it over his shoulder and allowing Kate to hug him. “But I’m a lawful passenger.”

The house owner appeared from the train’s side, holding a gun in one hand and a vodka bottle, matches and a box of slugs in another one. He walked to the couple in large steps and spoke in an indifferent impolite tone.

“He’s waiting. Will you leave already.”

Kate said nothing, so Oscar decided to speak instead.

“Let’s go. Thank you for your hospitality.”

The man looked at him in a strange manner, spit on the ground and disappeared inside the house, slamming the door.

Kate stepped aside, staring at Oscar perplexedly.

“Did I say something wrong?” he wondered.

“I don’t know… So you can speak Russian?”

“No? Why?”

“You just spoke to this man in Russian.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some hunting description which is accepted within the siberian taiga and other places for people to survive. If this material is too sensitive for you, then please skip to the middle of the chapter or so.

**North-East of Russia. 300km away from Romansburg (heading to Aralbad) and 5 km away from Chernizovo village. Autumn, 200*. Early morning.**

As soon as dawn broke, a man was going to leave a house, located on the edge of a small village within endless taiga forests. There were just 5 houses, and 2 of them have already been deserted.

He was preparing fast but not in a hurry, as if he did it many times before. Actually, he did indeed.

He put on thick fur coat, shoved his feet in boots, put a gun over his shoulder and it tinkled quietly with a cold metal sound. It woke the woman’s light sleep and she sat up in bed to look at her husband.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be back as usual,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Maybe, you won’t go today?” she asked hopefully.

“You ask every time.”

“And you refuse every time. Maybe stay home, just today… I’m so scared,” the woman said sincerely, picking at a cross on her neck. “I’m so scared… Please…”

“Stop it,” he sighed and kissed her temple. “There’s nothing to worry about. It’s been 6 years, we are safe and no one will offend you. Do you hear that? No one. So rest. I’ll try to be quick. Hunt promises to be good today.”

“No,” she grabbed his hand when he tried to pull away. “August, please, I don’t ask for much. I have a bad feeling. Something will happen today, I had nightmares all night.”

“It will be fine,” he tried to calm Olga down.

“No, I dreamt of an empty house. I dreamt that you never returned to me, and I kept waiting. It’s a bad omen.”

“It’s just a dream,” August said slowly, as if he was trying to convince his wife. “You sleep bad lately. You know what, I’ll call for the neighbour old woman, she’ll take care of you.”

“No. I can manage myself.”

“As you wish,” he wasn’t going to argue and headed towards the exit.

“If you don’t want to think about me or yourself,” Olga got up with effort, holding onto the bed headboard with one hand and putting her other hand on her big belly. “Think about it then.”

“I think of our child, and that’s why I go hunting, to give us food!” August said loudly but calmed down at once. “I think I’ll ask the old woman to come. You must not strain yourself.”

“August…”

“Olga, please, let’s not argue,” he took her hand. “I love you so much. Both of you. And I promise, that I’ll return as usual, to the minute. And I’ll bring you bear’s skin, if you want.”

The woman laughed, holding tight onto her husband’s hand.

“I don’t need a bear skin. I need you to keep your skin safe.”

“I will,” he hugged Olga tight while she hid her tears.

“I love you too.”

When he left the house, Olga kneeled on the floor before Blessed Virgin Mary icon and prayed for her husband's soul.

***

“What’s up with you?” August’s friend asked him, when they were trying to walk through the snowy forest, their guns held on shoulders. A furry dog was running ahead. “You are so quiet today.”

“Olga has nightmares again. She didn’t want to let me go, she thinks that I won’t come back. I don’t know what to do.”

“Ah, that will pass. My own wife had worse tantrums when she was pregnant. Oooh! I was running away from her like a rabbit from a wolf. Haha!”

“I regret I didn’t take her further away, but I don’t have money or energy for more. I don’t think this is what she dreamt of when she left with me.”

“And what do you think she did dream of?”

“Well, I don’t know… maybe, about America. Life would be much better there than here.”

“I don’t think so,” they stopped by a thick tall tree to catch their breath after fast walk. August sat on some snag, poking through the snow. The dog was somewhere around.

“You don’t think there’s a better place?”

“I’m grateful for what I have and I advise you to do so too,” the man said tutorially, scratching his beard.

“I don’t think I want to spend the rest of my life here…” August removed the gun from his shoulder and tried to reload it, but the gun was old and somewhat rusty, so it didn’t yield at first. “Ah damn it…”

“Are you going to replace this junk? This is scrap, really, just throw it out. Too bad they closed off all the scrap collecting stations…”

“Nah, shut up. This old girl will serve a bit more.”

“Quiet!” the other man suddenly said in whisper. “There’s a deer dead ahead. Ah, beauty.”

He brought his gun up and aimed.

“Just don’t move…”

There was a deafening shot, a flock of birds rose high up, tweeting loudly; the dog raced ahead, barking madly.

“Damn! Got it in the hip,” said the man, running after the prey. August had nothing left to do but to follow, but his friend and the dog were fast, and soon after he lost the sight of them.

Stopping in the middle of dense forest, August fell quiet, trying to hear any kind of sound within the immutable silence. A “hoot” echoed somewhere very close, and August brought his gun up in fear. There was a big white owl, sitting on a low branch and looking at the hunter with its big yellow eyes slyly.

“You…” he could still remember the strange ritual, the no less strange old man and those birds. “Come on, get out of here. Come on, shoo!”

He was poking at the bird with his gun, but it didn’t even budge.

“Ah, you are not afraid then, are you. Maybe I should just shoot you?”

“Hoot,” the owl said again, looking somewhere over the man’s shoulder. He heard a muffled growl. Cold shiver ran down August’s spine. He turned around sharply, his gun atilt. Just a few meters away a huge brown bear was shifting from one paw to another. Such a bear could kill August from one blow, and running away was out of question.

“Hoot,” the owl repeated mockingly.

August tightened his grip on the gun, his body shaking madly. The bear started moving on him, standing on back feet. August’s breath was taken away, a whole life ran past his eyes. Maybe, Olga was right - today he wouldn’t be able to go back home.

He tried to pull the trigger, but in vain. The safety lock was stuck, the gun let him down.

_ Come on, come on… Damn it… _

The bear roared again, much louder this time, and August already said goodbye to his life, when a sudden gunshot prevented this hunt on August. The bear staggered and with a second gunshot, it fell forward. The man barely managed to jump away. The other gunshot had gone in the bear’s head and that was the end.

When the animal sprawled on the ground, August saw his frightened friend, that was standing behind the bear. Both gunshots were his, a thin stream of smoke was going up from his gun’s barrel.

August leaned on the tree, taking his hat off. He had to come back to his senses.

“How are you?” his friend asked.

“You saved my life…”

“Heh,” another man laughed with a hysterical note. “You owe me. What a beast!”

“Is it really dead?” August said doubtfully.

“Of course it is,” said the other man, poking the bear with his gun. “He’s dead alright.”

Suddenly a furry dog appeared, sniffed the dead animal suspiciously and stepped away, looking at its master.

“It’s good that I didn’t manage to catch that deer…”

“We won’t be able to drag this thing alone,” said August.

“True. We’ll wait till my boys come back from fishing. We’ll put the bear on a sleigh and get it to the village. We’ll need to hurry though, or wolves will take it away.”

Leaving the bear where it was and marking some trees to find this place later, the two men hurried back to the village. They left the forest quickly. The houses appeared. Silence enveloped the village.

“Something is wrong,” August’s friend said, scratching his beard, but August knew it already. A few moments later he was racing back to his house.

The house was empty and smashed. All things were turned over, all beds and trunks were rummaged, as if someone was searching for something. Olga was nowhere to be seen.

“Olga!” he called for his wife, but no one responded.

Beside himself with terror, the man dashed to the backyard. He wasn’t afraid so much even when he faced the bear. There were two tracks, going away from the back exit. Following them he fell in the snow by his wife’s lifeless body.

Olga was lying on her back, her arms spread and her blue dim eyes staring into the sky. There was a bullet wound in her head. They killed her in the head, just like August’s friend killed the bear. And just like the dead animal, his wife was sprawled on the ground, becoming nothing but a carcass. Snow around her was soaked in blood.

“Olga… Olenka…” he whispered madly, holding her cold body close to himself, not caring about blood smudging his clothes. “I’m so sorry…”

“There were two men. A hunter,” said an old woman that appeared suddenly, but August couldn’t hear her. “They were looking for you. She made me leave. Told me to get the hell out of here. Told me to stay away from your house.”

The old woman spit on the ground.

“Olga couldn’t say that,” he said quietly, patting his wife’s head and ignoring his own tears. “Olenka, you couldn’t…”

“This hunter shot her like a dog. He had a gun.”

“How did they look like?” decisiveness and hatred were coming back to August’s heart.

“I don’t know the first one. Looked like a soldier. Bitchy face, fascist,” the old woman spit again and licked her dry ugly lips. “And the other one is well known here, and he lives close… A hunter. A rotten man, but his hands remember shooting well.”

August friend finally caught up. He crossed himself in the air and took his hat off. August rose and tried to grab his friend’s gun with Olga’s blood on his hands.

“I’ll shoot this son of a bitch. Give me your gun!”

“No!” shouted his friend and pushed him away.

“Take anything you want for it. Come on! Take anything! I don’t care about anything anymore!”

“I won’t give you the gun, August. Whatever you offer me. I’m so sorry for your loss, so sorry…”

“You can shove your “sorry” you-know-where…” August was breathing heavily, being on the edge of agony. “You are dead to me now. Get out of here! And you, out of here too!”

He turned to the old woman.

“Get the fuck out of here!”

A lone white owl was sitting on the house roof and watching the lonely man.

***

The train stopped on flatland. The woman walked to the newer train’s cabin energetically, opened the door without knocking, slammed it and sat by the driver.

“Are you kidding me?” Stefenger shouted, who was sleeping quietly till now, his cap pulled down on his eyes. “I had no sleep because of you yesterday, and now the same.”

“Tell me about August,” Kate asked, ignoring all his replies. “Who’s he?”

The man smirked, took his cap off and stared at the woman’s face in the darkness.

“What, are you afraid he’ll remember about what he did before your rituals?” He wanted to affect Miss Walker somehow, but her face stayed indifferent. The woman didn’t look at him, but past him in the cabin’s window. “He’ll tell you himself, shall his conscience allow.”

“Conscience? Did he do something?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“He doesn’t remember.”

“But he started to,” the man smiled when Kate finally looked at him. “You are afraid he’ll leave you the moment he remembers. Ha, what a problem, choose one life out of two. What if he had a family in his previous life, a wife and a child, for example? What will you do then?”

Kate said nothing, her lips pressed tight.

“You don’t know,” Stefenger went on. “Well, actually, you do, and that’s why you are afraid. You know that you won’t let him go, because if you do, you’ll be completely alone.”

“Stop it!” she cut him off. “Who is he? What did he do?”

“Well, if you insist… He killed his pregnant wife and then tried to commit a suicide. Are you happy now?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s up to you. But I think you nursed a viper in bosom…”

“You want me to doubt him? To step aside? It will play into your hands, right?”

“Miss Walker,” he approached her and whispered. “You are still up in the clouds and it’s high time you returned to the ground. Why then did you leave your heaven that you strived for so hard? You had everything, and there was no fear, no sorrow, no solitude. Where’s your God now, riding the backs of mammoths? And you dared leave him and take his “son”.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the woman lied awkwardly.

“Careful, Miss Walker, or you might fall lower.”

“Lower, you mean to your level?”

The man laughed and put a cap back on his head, fixing it there.

“Ah yes, thank you for talking to this hunter to allow us to stay in warmth,” the woman said with hidden context.

“And you didn’t let the opportunity slip,” the man understood her. “But don’t put labels on me.”

“And you don’t put labels on me and my friends,” Kate said seriously. “Hans Voralberg is not a God.”

“And I’m not a Tempter.”

The woman pushed the cabin door and left with no wish to further talk with this man. Stefenger yawned, scratched his nose, shifted on the cold bench and fell back asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**North-East of Russia. Romansburg. Late autumn 200*. An hour till midnight.**

A snowmobile was making its way through large snowdrifts, cutting through night, and passed quite a distance in no time. The silence was broken by its engine roar, but soon everything fell quiet, the moment the transport disappeared in the lower town and under the rails.

“Thanks,” the man gave his terse driver a 500 roubles banknote. He took and crumpled it, then put it in his front pocket. Then he spit on the ground and pressed the pedal and raced away, making it clear that he was not taking any passengers back.

August sighed heavily, put hands in pockets and wandered off to search for the needed house. He found it fast, as his memory held pictures of his past. He leaned on the wooden fence and knocked firmly on the gates. The gate shutter slid open sharply.

“Who’s there?” a rough malevolent voice asked.

“An old friend. Remember me, Bougroff? It’s August.”

“What?” the man behind the door muttered, but then fell quiet in thought and laughed. “Look, Igor, who came! We are lucky on guests today, huh. One is worse than the other.”

“Shut up,” August cut him off. “I’m on business.”

“Business? What business? We ain’t need your business! Get the fuck out of here!”

“Ain’t neeeed…” there was another faint voice from behind the gate, sounding weak and stupid.

“Ah, too bad. Good business, profitable…” August smirked, knowing that Ivan Bougroff never said no to money, even if they they smelled bad. He was right. The shutter slid away with a metal noise, and the gate opened, allowing the man to come in.

They sat on a bench in a shed. Another man, Igor, was sitting on the opposite sofa, whistling a tune. A dirty machine was rattling and spitting out black smoke into dark blue sky.

Ivan took a good swig out of his flask. August reached for his cigarettes in his pocket. They had an important deal to strike, it was certain now, and only Igor stayed carefree.

“Go on then,” Ivan demanded.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” said August seriously and cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse because of cold. “Sell me your ‘Katyusha’.”*

_ *A gun _

“What?” Ivan was perplexed. “Sell? Sell ‘Katyusha?’”

And he burst in loud guffaw.

“Have you, mate, hit your head and became like my brother idiot? “Katuysha” is not sold, and even if I did want to sell it, you won’t have enough money for it, ever. Is that it? Then come on, get out…”

“Wait,” August stopped him and took a long drag. “Why have you decided I have no money?”

“And you do?” Ivan said with a playful surprise. “How much? 100 roubles and your dead grandma’s ring?”

He said maliciously and sniggered again.

“I’ve got something better than money… Piles of gold, you could say!” August pulled out some newspaper from his bosom and threw it in Ivan’s hands. He took it, squinted to try and read small text in the darkness. August pushed an oil lamp obligingly towards him.

“What’s this crap? I don’t see any piles o’ gold.”

“Really?” now it was August’s turn to pretend to be surprised. “So read on. “Syberian white gold.” Have you gone blind or what?”

“Wanna hoodwink me, eh?” Ivan rose, waving the newspaper in the air angrily. “Think I’m an idiot?”

“Brother dear, don’t shout!” Igor whimpered. Ivan either didn’t hear him or ignored him.

“Come on, Ivan, think and don’t hurry,” August said calmly. “This little business is well-paying. This tundra is at a stone’s throw from Romansburg, and there you’ll see, you’ll have a heavenly life and only spit olive seeds out. I know you, guys, you won’t let what’s yours slip away.”

“Why don’t you go yourself then?” Ivan looked at the man suspiciously.

“I don’t need to. The hell I need those gold piles. And you guys do… So…” he shook cinder off on the ground. “I got you an idea, and an idea needs payment.”

Ivan looked at the newspaper indecisively. Looked over it again, looked at the picture of happy mammoth bone owners, remembered something and then he had an idea. It dawned on him! It seemed, that the fortune was smiling at him, and this fortune was waiting for him at the end of the world. It had been much better than the idea of selling that weird white dog, that they’d lost already anyway.

“Igor!” he shouted. “Stop sitting your pants to holes, get your ass up and bring me “Katyusha”! Now, you dumb idiot!”

Igor rose obediently and doddered to the house to fulfil his brother’s order.

“Look,” Ivan hissed threateningly, “if all this is a fucking whim, I’ll hunt you down.”

“Don’t worry, I’m an honest man. You’ll remember me fondly,” August grinned. He was happy about how the conversation ended. Everything went by his plan.

Igor returned. He approached Ivan in his rocking pace and handed him over a gun.

“Hold on,” Igor said doubtfully, thinking the deal over. “What if I need my “Katyusha” in such a matter, eh? What will I do without it? It’s my friend, you know, she does everything for me. And you are taking her away. Not good!”

“Oh come on! You are the Bougroff! You will do just fine without it. Who will dare stand in your way, if wild animals run away from you like from fire, huh?” August was nervous. This deal was almost struck.

Ivan took the gun from Igor’s hands. August stood by him and put his hand on the metal case.

“Give her to me,” He stared at Ivan.

“What if I kick you out, huh? I’ve got an idea and the gun, eh?” Ivan’s face was lit up by a malicious grin. August realised in horror that he was right. He had no conscience nor promised word, and he could easily follow his words. August decided to bluff.

“I have some other details that I didn’t mention.”

“Bluff!” Ivan realised it at once.

“And what if I don’t? How would you know, Ivan? No money for you without this little detail…”

“Tell me!”

“Gun first.”

Ivan grimaced hatefully and contemptuously, but finally released the gun from his fingers and handed it to August. He felt relieved. “Katyusha” was his at last.

Stepping 2 steps backwards, he put the gun up and aimed at the brothers. Ivan had to stay where he was.

“An honest man, huh?” he sniggered.

“I need her more than anyone now. It was my uncle’s gun. His best gun, and he sold it to you. “Katyusha” must be mine! And I keep my word…” he mused a bit, still holding his aim on the Bougroffs. “This railroad above. The Americans built it straight to the bones.You can use it and you won’t be out-of-pocket. God help you.”

Having finished the phrase, August stepped back slowly and disappeared behind the gates.

Igor rose from the sofa and tried to follow him, but Ivan stopped him.

“Hold on there, Igor, let him go to hell. He’s not our problem now,” Ivan was staring up, to where a mechanical locomotive was seen. “Americans, you say… Well, they won’t get a shit.”

***

Leaving the brothers’ yard, August felt extremely exhausted and happy at the same time. He was amazed, but he did it. Fortune was on his side and the fact that he was gently hugging “Katyusha”s metal case was its proof.

“Hello, my dear,” he said fondly. “How happy I am to see you. You’ll serve me well.”

The man looked at the gun closely and noticed a carved fish image on its butt. Not surprising, since his uncle loved fishing even more than hunting, and his favourite dish was salmon. He was just like a real siberian bear.

_ Uncle… so many years have passed… _

Distracted with his gun, he failed to notice a procession ahead. 3 monks were walking down the path towards the monastery. The first one held a torch, two others were holding a stretcher with a man on it, covered with a thick woolen blanket. His face could not be seen. Tailing behind them was a woman. She put her collar up to protect her face from the wind and she was looking down at the path. 

August quickly moved away to avoid interfering and to prevent the monks from recognizing them. But the one with the torch did notice him, looked at his gun and quietly, just with his lips, whispered “I.C.H.T.H.Y.S.”.*

_ *Wikipedia: ΙΧΘΥΣ, or also ΙΧΘΥC with lunate sigma (Ichthys) is a backronym/acrostic for "Ίησοῦς Χριστός, Θεοῦ Υἱός, Σωτήρ", (Iēsous Christos, Theou Yios, Sōtēr) contemporary Koine [ie̝ˈsus kʰrisˈtos tʰeˈu (h)yˈjos soˈte̝r], which translates into English as "Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour." _

The procession disappeared in the darkness of the night, and August had a long journey ahead to one only goal. He firmly moved up the stairs when he nearly caught on a small girl that was standing there. She looked at him curiously with her huge black eyes.

“Hello there,” he said. “Why aren’t you at home in bed, sleeping? It’s late night.”

“I was seeing to my friend,” she said sincerely.

“A friend?” 

“Her friend is sick, and the monks said they’ll try to heal him. They came with a stretcher and said that they’ll bring him to the Prior in the monastery,” the girl explain, playing with her tiny hair tail.

“Well, I hope they’ll heal him.”

“I hope so too,” she smiled. “You are nice. What’s your name?”

“Eh, August,” he said awkwardly.

“Hehe,” she giggled, covering her mouth with a tiny hand. “A summer name. A man with a summer name!”

I’ve heard it somewhere before…

“Malka!” a bulky man in red clothes looked out of the house and called the girl “Come inside!”

“Coming, uncle Cirkos!” she replied to him.

“Wait,” he called her back when she was halfway back home. “How old are you?”

“Six!” Malka shouted proudly and disappeared in the house. August scratched his head in total confusion.

***

Having stepped onto the platform, August had another chance to praise the beauty of the night Siberian sky. Billions of stars were scattered over his head, just like the night when he went to the mad old man’s house and got himself dragged into a strange ritual. Olga was right, he shouldn’t have gotten in all this paper deal, but August realised sadly that had he had another chance, he’d have done it again. He couldn’t have done otherwise.What if he didn’t walk inside that house? What if he didn’t participate in the ritual? Would anyone have lost anything because of it? August thought that perhaps not.

He stood there, staring into the endless white land and thinking how he’ll walk it in complete solitude. “Katyusha” was heavying his shoulders pleasantly and made his back cold. She will be his only companion in this long journey.

August looked around to give one last glance over Romansburg and the monastery. It was only then that he noticed the train at the station. It made him curious. He put his hood up and lit up his cigarette. Then he approached the train to look at it closely. Everything around him was dark. Only a dim lantern over the shop’s entrance was stealing some space from the darkness.

August was looking at the metal beast on the rails thoughtfully.

“Can I help you, sir?” He heard a mechanical voice to his left. August turned around, taking a drag. There was a strange man in front of him, or not a man at all. It was hard to see in this darkness. He surely seemed like a man, he had 2 arms and 2 legs and a head, but something about him was off, only August couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“No. I’m… curious about the train,” he said hoarsely, squinting. August stood against the light, and with his hood high up, so the other man couldn’t see his face, only a dark silhouette and a smoldering bit of the cigarette.

“This train cannot fail to amaze indeed. I’m glad you like it,” the voice creaked slowly.

“Who is traveling by it? And where?”

“Us,” said the voice. “We are going to Syberia, sir. Have you heard anything about it? We need all the information we can get.”

“I only remember that blue grass grows there. I’ve heard about it from one old man long ago. I think his name was Hans. I can’t remember more.”

“I dare say it was Hans Voralberg who told you about it,” somehow happily and proudly said the voice.

“Looks like it. Do you know him?”

“Yes, he created me.”

“Created?” August asked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I’m the latest created automaton, sir. My name is Oscar. Hans Voralberg is my creator.”

“Ah, is that it… Oscar, you say. An automaton,” the man finished smoking, extinguished his cigarette off the metal railing and threw the cigarette butt down.

“Who do I have the honour to speak to? Could you please introduce yourself?” Oscar asked.

“No,” said August after a pause. “I couldn’t.”

Silence fell. They could hear bulb buzzing clearly, that hang over the shop door, and the dirty machine at the Bougroffs’, that kept spitting out black smoke into clear sky. Oscar and August were standing side by side, admiring the beauty of a mechanical train.

“Could I meet your creator now?”

“I’m sorry sir, but it is impossible. I’m very sorry. Unfortunately, Mister Voralberg has fallen ill and he is now in the monastery to be cured,” automaton tried to conceal his anxiety.

“I’m sorry,” August said and cleared his throat. “So it was him on the stretcher. And who was the woman with him? Actually, it doesn’t matter, don’t answer.”

He fixed “Katyusha”’s strap on his shoulder. The gun tinkled lightly.

“Well, good health to gramps, unless those bastards drive him into the coffin faster. That they can do. Well, see you later. Don’t think poorly of me!”

“Where are you going, sir? At night?” Oscar asked perplexedly. 

“I’ve got a job to do. An important one. Without it my life has no meaning. Do you have such a job?”

“I do,” Oscar replied after a short pause.

“Then you know what I mean. Well, good luck,” August thrust his hand for the handshake.

“And you, sir,” lingering, Oscar shok August’s hand.

And they both went away to return to their life, to walk further down their fate. Crossed and went in the opposite ways.

Oscar never knew the name of the man that he met at night and he never told the woman, who returned from the monastery in the morning. He thought there still would be time. She didn’t have to know about it, much like about anything else. Let her live her fairytale.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is Christmas mentioned, and the date might confuse some. It's not the catholic Christmas, but the Orthodox one which is on January 7, hence the eve of the 6th.

**North-East of Russia. 200km away from Romansburg (heading to Aralbad), Gorki village. Middle of December, 200*. Afternoon.**

The cash machine creaked lazily, groaned as if it swallowed a cloud of dust, but finally spit a receipt out, informing about the fish and meat cans purchase. “Thank you for shopping!” said this pitiful piece of paper, granting the seller time to be quiet and put the goods on the counter. No matter how much time for silence it granted, however, the seller didn’t use the gift. There were two reasons for it: firstly, the man loved babbling to his clients as he didn’t have many for a while, and secondly, there was a problem…

“My dear fellow,” he looked up at the client with his narrow eyes. “We’ve got no change, you see. Ah, what a pity, what a pity. No sales at all these days! Sales are going quite bad, you see. Not good at all! If sales were dogs, I’d have hit them to death, you see!” the man had a strange accent, that seemed like Chuckhi or Buryat. Or both at once.

“Got no smaller cash,” the man muttered. “Stop putting wool over my eyes, man. I won’t believe that you have little sales in winter.”

“I think they would be high, but they aren’t, darn dogs, see! Little people live here, and those who do, don’t come to my shop…” sighed the seller sorrowfully.

“So what are you suggesting? Where will I change the cash for you?” August was getting angry.

“Oh please do not get mad, my dear fellow! Look, maybe you want to buy something else, eh? The choice is tinsee, but what if you see something. Take a look, see… Look, I’ve got bullets. Ah, what bullets! Amazing bullets! You’ve never had such bullets! Just what your gun needs. What a gun you have! An amazing gun! I’ve never had one like this.”

“I’ve got bullets. And no worse than yours.”

“What a pity, what a pity,” the seller fussed about, looking around in search of something useful and expensive. “Maybe, a lantern, eh? A good lantern! It lights up the way like a train front light!”

“And what do I need it for? To scare owls?”

“Buy the boots…”

“No, enough,” August cut him off. “Give me my money back, I’ll look for another shop.”

“Wait, don’t leave,” there was fear and a sudden idea in the seller’s narrow eyes. He put his hand in a pocket and pulled out a new simple phone. “Here is a good thing. Buy it and you won’t regret it, see…”

August took the phone, rocked it in his hand as if checking its weight, looked at it from all sides, then put it back.

“And what do I need this crap for?”

“Now, my dear fellow, think it through. A good thing might come in handy. A sly machine! Calls like a wolf! I tried it myself.”

“I don’t need it! No one to call.”

“Well, you might be missing your fate.”

“My fate has already been missed,” August smirked and stared at the phone.

“The whole West already has stuff like this,” the seller chanted, leaning onto the counter. “No way without them there… Yes… we are far behind from the West… Must be good there.”

“And it’s not good here?”

“Well, who’s happy here? Maybe the birds are, but that’s it.”

August sighed with exhaustion. He didn’t want to look for another shop, even despite knowing that the seller was lying about small sales, he just wanted to get his money, so he tried to sell the damn phone.

“Here, my dear fellow,” the man put 200 roubles and some cash on the counter next to the phone. “Don’t put me to death.”

“Be damned,” August agreed and put the money in a wallet, then shoved the phone in his pocket. “I’ve got nothing else to lose, and you will at least buy a drink…”

“Thank you, good man, oh, thank you!” the seller smiled and hurriedly wrote down some numbers on the other side of the receipt. “Here, this is for the sly device to recognize you. Come back again, my dear fellow. Ask me for help and I always will.”

“You’ll help, you say… “ August drawled thoughtfully, hiding the receipt in another wallet’s department. “I’m looking for a man… Stefenger. Have you heard about him?”

“Aaah!” the seller beamed but then drooped somehow. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, see you, then”

“Why are you looking for him, dear man?” the seller called August when he was in the doorway.

“I have a talk to talk,” August replied, fixing the gun’s strap on his shoulder.

***

**Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan border; the Aral sea. Spa resort Aralbad. End of February, 200*. Afternoon.**

The woman woke up late and reluctantly. Last week exhausted her not even physically, but spiritually. Everything around her was white or gray, no colour at all, as though the world wrapped itself in a white sheet and was refusing to poke its nose out. Maybe, it was covered with a white sheet and this is why it felt so cold.

The train was staying at a lonely station, covered with snow. There was stillness and silence in the air. The train cabin was empty, even its usual fire in the furnace was blown out.

The woman was looking through the doorway at wrought iron fence and the distant almost translucent mountains at the horizon. She thought that she could be just like that mountain: distant and translucent. A big solemn seagull was walking down the platform, ignoring the strange train. As if it had always been there.

Kate made an effort to pull herself together, get up and look around. She needed to find Oscar and ask him where he was. “To take a little air and dust away the cobwebs from her joints”. She awkwardly stepped down the ladder and onto the icy platform. It was strange to return here. As if her life was recorded on a tape and now it was scrolled back with a terrible noise, sometimes making pauses to see how she was making a step forward. Give her hope, press “stop” and scroll back again.

The station, much like the mechanical locomotive itself, was deserted. Kate walked towards the newer train, but changed her mind and returned to the winding machine. She touched it with a smile. A simple process of winding the springs up, but good Lord, how much was connected to it! How many memories! Had they asked her what she would have preferred: to see the mammoths again or to wind up the train, she’d have chosen the latter right away. It had an air of hope, faith and intention. Springs are wound up to move ahead and never look back. It meant the beginning or the middle of a journey, but never the end.

Slowly, as if enjoying this moment, the woman wound the train up. Just because she wanted to, there was no need in it. Her heart was beating madly from the quiet whispers of the turning key. “Come on!” it shouted excitedly. “Jump into the abyss! Let yourself go, forget about everything. Run! Run…”

“Miss,” Stefenger’s helper, the same young man, called her and took her out of the world of memories. “If you are looking for your friend, he is in the hotel and he said he’ll return soon. He asked to tell you if you woke up before his return.”

“Thank you,” Kate smile. “And Mr Stefenger, is he asleep?”

“No, miss, he’s also in the hotel.”

“Have they left together?”

“No, miss, your friend left later, not that long ago, but Mr Stefenger has been away all morning,” the young man reported, wiping his dirty hands off some cloth.

“Well, then I’ll go visit the hotel too. Thanks…” she paused, staring at the young man. He caught up on her idea momentarily.

“Oh, I’m sorry. James,” he wiped his hand off his trousers and reached out to Kate. “James Oswald.”

“Nice to meet you,” she looked surprised. “I’m Kate Walker.”

She shook his hand.

“I know,” he replied with a smile. “I must go back to my work.”

“Of course. Thanks again.”

“Not at all, miss.”

The outside of the hotel didn’t change one bit. Same fountain at the entrance, though turned off because of the cold or some other reason. Perhaps, there’ll be “another maniac, daring to poke their nose in the hotel and disturb an important guest”.

Kate smiled, looking at the thin layer of ice, surrounding the beautiful female sculpture of the fountain. Some time ago this statue was surrounded by a cloud of soapy foam. Perhaps, she was the only one who didn’t mind this kind of cataclysm.

How boldly, how impertinently Miss Walker acted, how striving she was to reach her goal. And she didn’t do it because of her job or out of fear of being fired or out of homesickness or whatever else. Even then she lived with faith in her heart.

Kate craved to return to that moment and have this feeling of faith again.

She quietly entered the hall and breathed in the pleasant smells of expensive velvet, varnish and a slightly tangible smell of bleach from the pool. Mr Felix was fast asleep in the chair in front of his TV, that must have been long showing nothing but static.

“Mister Felix?” Kate called him, but he only snored louder. The hiss of the TV static wasn’t getting less silent either.

She tiptoed around the counter and pressed the TV button. The static disappeared, leaving dark screen behind.

Perhaps, she should have woken the manager up, but Kate decided not to. She wasn’t sure mister Felix would be delighted to see her. Perhaps, it was best for both of them to stay in the dark.

Now pressing another button, the red one, the woman unlocked the main hotel door and quietly slipped past the lattice door, pulling the door handle as quietly as she could to avoid Mister Smetana’s wrath.

Without even looking at the deserted pool, she went into the room with the bar, hoping to see there someone she wanted to talk to for quite a while. But this person wasn’t there. Actually, there was no one at all. Not even a hint on someone’s presence. It used to be there. It soared in the air, as if it were saying, “You can’t see me, but I’m here. This place is not empty.” It wasn’t that… lonely before.

Reaching the pier, Kate found the door unlocked. She slowly picked up the chair that she dropped during her last visit here, when she ran back to the train without looking back. How strange that no one had still put it back up. And not because there was no one to do it, no one simply cared enough to. Nothing would change because of a fallen chair.

The sea was still. One couldn’t fear salty winds as there was no wind at all. Gray clouds were covering the sky; give it a moment and they’d start crying with snow. Kate slowly went down the pier, just like she walked it in indecision of going to the helicopter. Now she had no doubts at all. There was nothing, her soul was empty, just like everything around her.

Fat seagulls were cleaning their snow white feathers, sitting on a rusty boat, stones or rotten planks. There was a gracious, solemn gazebo ahead. Coming closer, Kate noticed two silhouettes in there. One of them was the person Kate had hoped to meet - the last automaton, created by Voralberg. Stefenger was talking to him, his frowning look was unnerving. Noticing the woman approaching, he seemed to have hurried up, said something to James and stepped aside, turning round the gazebo from its right side. The woman decided that he was going towards her, but he suddenly stopped and leaned on the railing, lighting a cigarette and staring at the horizon.

Without a word Kate passed him quickly, turned round the gazebo and stood before her old acquaintance. She stopped just a few meters away from him. He was staring at the same place as Stefenger, standing by the edge of the stairs where ice covered water, where there used to be an American helicopter, waiting to take Kate back.

“James” she asked as if she doubted his presence. With great noise and effort he turned his head, as much as rust could allow.

“Good day, Miss,” he said weakly, his voice breaking. “I did not expect to see you here again.”

“Oh James...” Kate flicked snow off his shoulders, his hat and the seat, and then embraced him gently, as if he was a lost child. “I’m so happy to see you. I worried about you.”

“Likewise, miss,” he creacked when Kate pulled away. “How is your journey? Have you reached your goal?”

“Oh yes,” the woman sighed dreamily. “It wasn’t easy, but we found Syberia. And the mammoths. Hans Voralberg’s dream came true.”

“I’m glad for my creator,” said the automaton dryly with no hint of happiness.

Kate remained silent. She looked at James’s hands, that were clenching onto the seat’s armrests. Rust had eaten away his little finger and was finishing the ring one. One could only guess what was happening to the gears inside him. She had no more courage to look him in the eyes, but quite enough to jump over the ravine on a bungee.

“Have you been standing here long?” she asked awkwardly.

“Since Madame passed away.”

“I’m sorry James, so sorry. If I hadn’t…”

“Madam has never blamed you,” the automaton cut her off. “Even on her deathbed she was grateful that you gave her one last glorious moment of her previous life.”

“But you blame me…” Kate whispered, staring at the ground.

“I won’t say no, miss. Madame could have lived longer, had she stayed here instead of her trip to Komkolzgrad. I didn’t share her views on your act. I still don’t.”

Kate’s hands were shaking. She was afraid she might hear this.

“I’m sorry,” she said despite the silliness of her apologies in this situation. She had this heavy burden on her heart, and if she couldn’t be forgiven by an automaton, at least she tried. “When I saw it in the newspaper…”

“Madame said that you opened her eyes,” James wasn’t listening to her again. “That she retrieved the clarity of mind and endless wisdom. Perhaps, I have solidarity with her on that point. Madame called you a wonderful woman, able to bring clarity and give hope.”

“Don’t say that,” Kate said firmly. “She shouldn’t have lifted me up. After all, I’m nothing but an ordinary New York lawyer.”

“It’s not true and you know it. Madame said that you were like “him”. That you couldn’t be broken and couldn’t be held back. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Had you had to choose again, would you have acted like the first time?”

“You want to know if I regret my decision?” she clarified, looking around. Stefenger was standing on the same spot with no obvious interest to their conversation.

“No, I want to know if you would have gone through the same journey, had you had the chance.”

The clouds were finally beginning to pour out all the collected moisture. The snow, crystally clear, was falling in rare flakes. It wasn’t big now, as if it was warning against an upcoming storm.

“No”, Kate replied.

“May I ask…”

“4 human deaths,” now it was the woman who cut James off. She needed a moment to collect herself. The automaton was waiting patiently till she was ready to continue. “And it’s those that I know of for certain.”

She wiped tears away with her sleeve.

“Hans died on the third day of being on the island. He was so… healthy and energetic in his last days, and then I found him dead. I saw him escaping from death so many times, that I simply couldn’t believe it.”

A large seagull was sitting on a stone and gutting a fish, holding its head with its claws. Grey sand was shimmering with fish scales. The fish was long dead and wasn’t moving, allowing the bird to rip pieces off and eat them.

“No, I wouldn’t go through it again,” Kate went on. “It’s unbearable, when everything around you dies and you are alone. You understand me, don’t you.”

James did, of course.

“At least 3 deaths are my fault. I saw Ivan being pecked to death by birds. Sometimes I have nightmares about it. I wouldn’t wish anyone to see something like this. And Madame Romanski… How can she say that I bring clarity after all that has happened? I feel like all I can do is lead people to their deaths. And Oscar… I had to pull him apart with my own hands to let Hans return,” Kate sighed and swallowed, trying to get rid of a lump in her throat. Pain of the memories was strong, it was getting worse as pain turned into words. But she kept torturing herself, as if she were self-flagellating. Perhaps, she thought it was the only way of clearing her conscience.

“And he was so obedient to sacrifice himself for Hans!”

“I’m sorry, miss…” James began.

“Thank goodness, I could get him back!” now Kate sounded happier. “I don’t know what I would have done, had I failed. It’s a miracle! So, you shouldn’t feel sorry.”

“No, miss, you haven’t finished listening to me,” said the automaton resentfully. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry you still haven’t understood.”

“Understood what?”

“The way you treat automatons - it’s unacceptable. Whatever happened and no matter how much you wanted, automaton was and will never be a human,” said James, as if he were tutoring a silly child. “Automaton is always an automaton. I had hoped that this time you’d understand it, just like Madame did. I must admit I’m surprised, that even after your journey, you are still clueless. I assumed that when or if I see you again, I’d never hear you say “I miss him” about an automaton or something similar.”

“What’s so bad about it?”

“Our life is different, miss. We live by a different law and you shouldn’t compare human death to the deactivation of an automaton. Your treatment and feelings are touching, but they make me doubt your sanity.”

“Are you saying I’m mad to worry about a friend?” asked Kate perplexedly.

“I never said it. Not a friend, but an automaton.”

“I can’t consider you or Oscar my friends?”

“You can consider your friend anyone you wish, but that’s not the point. I hope one day you will understand. Madame did too, but later.”

“Oscar is not an automaton anymore, if you want to know,” said Kate in such a tone that was meant to hurt James, just like he hurt herself, but he said nothing. He was quiet for quite some time, staring into the hazy distance.

The woman was thinking his words over, about an automaton always staying one, and she kept insisting in her mind on the opposite. When they (both James and Kate) were swimming through the endless storm of snow and sea, their thoughts weren’t disturbed, until Stefenger cleared his throat loudly, reminding of his presence.

“It’s time for you to go, miss,” said the automaton, as if to someone else, but Kate. “Your train is leaving soon. I was glad to see you and… I forgive you for everything. Go, the storm will rage soon.”

“Wait, I can’t just leave you here. Come with us, this is the best idea. You will see Valadilene, I promise to bring you there. Please, James, come with us,” Kate covered his rusty hand. “I’ll fix you, you’ll look brand new. You will rust in this wind. Please…”

“Leave, miss, my time is over.”

“No. It’s not true.”

He looked at her long white fingers, holding onto his hand despite sharp cold wind, blowing roughly from the sea. If it wasn’t for the metal surface, contrasting with her hand, one could think that her fingers were made from marble, hard and lifeless. Or made from snow that hadn’t touched the ground yet.

James looked in her eyes and realised that she wouldn’t step away, that she would do anything for him, because she wanted to save another soul.

“Very well, miss,” he sighed. “Have it your way.”

“Great, James! You won’t regret it!” she exclaimed happily.

“I must admit, miss, that due to my long exposure to salty winds I have rusted quite a bit and I am unsure I can move even an inch further.”

“Don’t worry, Oscar must have an oiler hidden in the cabin. I’ll call for him, and together we’ll help you board the train,” the woman was ready to dart back.

“Miss,” he made an enormous effort to release the seat armrest and hold her hand, not managing to clench all fingers round her wrist. “Thank you.”

He said and let her go, allowing her to escape. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and then Kate dashed back to the train. She ran through fog, filled with strong snowstorm, rough snowflakes were whipping her face. Just like last time, when she was running with faith in her heart, just to be on time.

But she was stopped. Loud creaking, as if some gates were being open, as if someone was scratching down the glass with something metal. It sounded like a scream, but terrible insane scream like from an asylum. She dashed back in horror, praying for her guesses to be wrong.

Where James was standing before, now stood Stefenger. His neck was craning strangely, as if he were looking somewhere down. He stepped back and froze.

“James!’ she screamed, darting forward and but for Stefenger’s arms, she’d have been drowning in icy dark water that swallowed the automaton. He was drowning fast, but not fast enough, like a shipwreck. But for the man, holding her, she’d have jumped after him for she had no right not to. It would have been fair.

The abyss swallowed him and shut its wide sharp mouth. Kate was staring at the sea till last oxygen bubble disappeared on the surface.

“James…”

Everything fell quiet, even the wind. And then rage seized her. Kate fought herself out of Stefenger’s arms, pushing him away wildly. Her face was grimaced in hatred.

“You…” she couldn’t find words to express her anger. “You did it. He couldn’t even move his arm, and you pushed him. You killed him!”

“Yes,” the man nodded calmly, not even denying his actions. “I did him a favour. He asked me, and I fulfilled his wish. You can’t be the only one to help others’ dreams, honestly!”

Such impudence made Kate speechless for a moment.

“What? It’s a lie! Stop excusing yourself. He couldn’t…”

“Yes, miss, his Madame died, and he wanted to follow her. A wise decision, even better than yours. The goal that he was created for was fulfilled. And an automaton can’t exist without a goal. Every thing must have a goal, or this thing is useless.”   
  


“I could have saved him…” said Kate, clenching and unclenching her fists. “If you didn’t…”

The man smirked at her naivety, and she had to hold herself back from lashing out on him in rage.

“Our deal is off,” she said through her teeth. “You won’t get anything. You’ll get the train only over my dead body.”

“But it doesn’t belong to you, does it? You have only a proxy, but in fact, the owners are the Universal Toy Company, who, if I’m not mistaken, don’t even know about the train’s existence. I thought you’d have enough brain to arrange everything without needless paperwork and proceedings, but you must have drowned in your past for good.”

“I’ve already wound the train up,” Kate tried to speak evenly, but her voice was still breaking. “We’ll detach the carriage and return. I couldn’t care less about your plans.”

She turned around and started walking away, but froze when she heard the sound of a cocked trigger behind her back.

“God knows I didn’t want it to come to such methods,” Stefenger sighed surprisingly sincerely. He approached Kate close enough to touch her jacket with the pistol barrel. “But it seems I have no choice. Listen here, Miss Walker. We’ll return to the train and continue our exciting journey. Moreover, you’ll give me the papers you have providently taken with you. I could have easily taken them from your bag myself, but I decided to behave like an honest man. And you see how it turned out. What a pity, that honesty is so unappreciated today. Come, Miss Walker.”

He spoke while nudging her to walk with his pistol’s barrel.

“Don’t worry about your friend. He’s enjoying his heaven. Forget about him and don’t hurry to return him back.”

***

**North-East of Russia. 300km away from Romansburg (heading to Aralbad) and 5 km away from Chernizovo village. January 6, 200*. 2 hour past midnight.**

A man was sitting in an ambush quietly, his knee down. He lightly put the gun up, as if he’d done it many times before, with no trembling hands despite terrible cold. He was calm and confident: a true hunter, a predator, ready to strike a final blow.

His features were still, his eyes were cold like this Christmas eve night. And nature was calm with him, there was no sound to be heard: no snow, falling from the branches, no river murmur, no whispers of forest life. Only endless silence.

The man breathed out a cloud of smoke and drowned his cigarette butt between the roots of an old pine tree. He was ready to wait for as long as he needed, even the entire night.

Past half an hour, engrossing silence was disturbed by rough even steps of heavy boots on flimsy floor planks. They paused for a second, and the door opened noisily. A bulky drunk man practically fell out of the house. He was muttering something under his breath and was leaning on a gun to avoid falling. His other hand was holding a bottle. He had a pitiful, not a threatening look.

August wasn’t very far from him, hiding in the trees, but he was far enough not to be noticed. This man’s deranged state only made his task easier: he could be less careful, but had to still be on guard.

He aimed and held his breath. Finally someone will pay for Olga’s murder. If not Stefenger, not the king himself, then his pawn, and soon August would get to the main figure too.

The man wasn’t hurrying. He could see his enemy’s broad back and he felt himself a hero, who decided to singlehandedly take over a bear and was about to defeat this beast. If he had bothered to look up, he’d have noticed hardly visible green fog, gathering round his head. It slowly swirled in a spiral and was going lower and lower and lower.

August squinted and put his finger on the trigger, waiting for the best moment. And ideal moment when everything was in the line and he could act. And… there.

_ Now! _ \- he shouted in his mind before the fog pounced on it like a beast or fell like a snowdrift on his head. It enveloped him fully, but the trigger was pulled…

A white owl, quietly soaring through the starry sky, was holding a dead lemming in its claws. Carefully, as if this poor animal was a good omen.

***

“What’s going on?” Oscar asked in terror, watching Kate walk up into the locomotive’s cabin, followed by armed Stefenger.

“Very well, miss Walker, I’m glad you finally listened to your wise thoughs and made the right decision. And now, the papers, please,” he said when all three of them were inside. Kate stepped to her backpack, when the man suddenly changed his mind. “No, wait. Let your friend do it. Oscar, isn’t it? Mister Oscar, please be so kind as to get Miss Walker’s papers and hand them over to me.”

The woman was silent, waiting for the right moment, and nodded at Oscar lightly to do what he was told to. The man approached her backpack, unzipped it, searched it and pulled out slightly shabby manuscripts and drafts. Staying on the same place, he passed the papers to Stefenger, and in his turn he had to step close to Kate to reach for the desired papers. She could feel his even breathing by her left ear, and noticed that he lowered the pistol, probably savouring his victory. All his attention was glued to the papers.

An unforgivable mistake.

Kate swung back and kicked him in the stomach with her arm, and while Stefenger was in confusion, she grabbed his gun and stepped back to Oscar, aiming at the man. Most of the papers scattered around or flew out into snow on wind.

“Not bad, miss Walker, not bad,” Stefenger admitted, smirking, but she wasn’t up to smirking herself. It was her victory now, but she wasn’t going to stop. Something disgusting swirled inside her. Stefenger must have caught it. “Come on, miss Walker, what are you waiting for? You are craving for justice, aren’t you?”

Oscar was worried. He looked from the woman to man, trying to catch everything from their conversation. Somehow he could understand that something wrong was going on, something turned inside out, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The woman was holding the pistol out, aiming at Stefenger’s heart, and he kept nagging.

“Where is your bravery, Kate? Come on, I won’t run away. I deserve this, so shoot.”

“Right, you do deserve it,” she agreed.

“So shoot!”

“No, don’t,” Oscar inserted, touching Kate’s hand, but she moved her hand away and snapped at him.

“Don’t interfere,” she said. “Do you know what he did? He killed James.”

“Dispenser of justice, miss Walker,” Stefenger seemed beyond exaltation. “I didn’t know ordinary lawyers had a right to. You represent law. But what law? Godly one?”

“You are making a mistake,” Oscar insisted. “Whatever it is he had done, it doesn’t allow you to…”

“Shut up,” Kate shouted and cocked the trigger. Stefenger spread his arms dramatically.

“Shoot, miss Walker, I’m all yours! Shoot!”

“No!” Oscar grabbed her to save her, but it was too late: she pulled the trigger…

***

There was a deafening shot, destructive, putting everything in chaos. The bullet flew past the drunk hunter’s ear by a centimeter and crumbled nearby tree’s bark. The man staggered, shook his head, threw his bottle away, turned around and aimed his gun in the direction of his life threatening target. But he saw no one in the darkness, so he shot into the unknown and then heard someone racing away. He shot again - and missed. His night guest got away. The hunter swore and returned to his house to sleep.

And August ran. Ran without looking back, tripping over and falling, as if a pack of hungry wolves was chasing him. At some point something flickered before his eyes and he dropped on the spot.

He didn’t remember when he woke up, but he ran. He remembered that he was scared, scared to ad nauseam, then terrible, terrible pain caught him, and he fell and cried, holding onto his head and stomach and chest. He was fainting from this pain, and recovered in a totally different place.

He lost “Katyusha” and he didn’t remember where or how. He tried to return along his tracks, got to the river and then fell into some hole and woke up in an old stinking barn with such bad pain all over his body, that he couldn’t move a limb. Dull sunlight was streaming from the window. And there he was lying, dying and breathing heavily, till some old woman threw him out, taking him for a drunkard.

There was a wall of fog around him, solid and thick, like sour cream, he couldn’t see a thing. Sometimes he heard voices and numbers in his head, signals that sounded like Morse code. He woke up in a wasteland when some dog was biting onto his jacket’s collar. He got up. Someone called for the dog. He looked around - there was no one, neither dogs nor people.

There was black railroad ahead, 30 meters away. He walked along with no idea of his destination. He didn’t know where North or South were and it didn’t matter. He walked a long way till he fell, then woke up in the same place (or not), still lying on the rails. He sat up on his arms and realised three things at once: that he went mad, that he threw up several times before he collapsed, and that he was still holding onto his new phone.

He sat up, fighting the pain in his left side. He looked at the lifeless device.

Why am I holding a phone?

He put in the code that the seller wrote for him. The phone blinked, the screen was blank, there were no incoming or outgoing calls. Suddenly he realised that he was standing, not sitting, and that there were 6 numbers on his screen. Actually, one number, that he called 6 times.

_ When did I do that?.. I can’t remember…  _

He called the number - no one replied. The phone number was switched off or out of coverage…

How much time passed, he had no idea. Maybe, a day, or three, or a week. Time was lost much like himself. Now his whole life was a weird dream, and when he did wake up, he was in pain. He also realised that he was losing his mind. But even that wasn’t the most depressing thought. The worst was that he didn’t do what he planned. Olga’s murderers were still alive, and it was his worst torture.

And then he gave up. He decided that it was the end. His memory loss became longer. He could walk the road in the morning and then suddenly he was sitting under the tree at night in a completely different place. These washouts ate whole days. Most importantly, he couldn’t understand why and where he was going, what was happening when he was lost, because he walked and not slept.

The further the worse, he could forget while walking and wake up while climbing the tree, trying to escape a wolf.

He was tired, terribly tired of swimming in this eternal fog, like a drifting ship that was caught in a current and moved somewhere. While he remembered himself, he bought a rope in a local shop of some village. He woke up again while walking the rails and then turned into the forest. Walked a bit more, even ran, being afraid of getting lost again.

He found a perfect place, tied an awkward loop with his frozen fingers, then put rope’s other end over the tree branch that lowered its crown over the precipice. He tied a tight knot and looked down. He did everything fast while his mind was still his own and fear had not touched him yet.

He put a loop over his neck and froze on the edge, breathing haltingly. He closed his eyes and remembered Olga, her shy smile, her gentle eyes, her clear laughter. He remembered Vladimir and the mad old man with his strange rituals. He remembered dark starry sky, so dear and distant, black and inviting like the young gypsy girl’s eyes. He looked back at his life that now seemed so pointless. He felt tears run down his face, and something foreign reappearing inside him, trying to put his mind out again.

_ I won’t let it… _

He breathed icy air one last time, allowing it to fill his lungs, and stepped into the darkness…

***

There was a click - and nothing more. Stefenger lowered his hands, standing on the same spot and smirking, alive and well. Kate stared at the pistol in confusion, just like Oscar, who was still gripping on her arm.

“It’s not loaded, miss,” Stefenger explained finally, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a handful of bullets. He shook them like dice and put them back. “I always keep it unloaded and use it with bullets only if I need to fight a wild animal.”

The woman couldn’t say a word. Stefenger approached her slowly and took back his weapon.

“So, who’s the murderer now?” he asked snidely, realising perfectly well how Kate must have felt. He collected the papers that were still lying on the ground and were not stolen by the wind, and put them in his bosom. “You know, miss Walker, we will all die at some point. It’s only a matter of time. So why bother? Think about it at leisure. We still have a long way ahead of us, so you’ll have enough time. I think it’s time we left. Till next stop, miss Walker… Mister Oscar…”

He nodded and left for his train’s cabin.

“What have I done…” the woman whispered.

Oscar hugged her tightly, happy that everyone stayed alive.

***

Two women in loose black clothing, their heads covered, were collecting brushwood in the forest. One was older, of about 30 years old, another one was not even 20 - very young. Both were busy with their task, but could still exchange a word or two. Their conversation was mainly about the arrangement and responsibilities of the Blessed Virgin Mary hospital, that both nuns belonged to. The younger one kept asking questions about how this or that thing was supposed to be done, while the older one was explaining willingly. She told her about how she got in the hospital and how nicely sister Anastasia accepted her.

Through the conversation, their sleigh was soon full of heavy piles, tied with thick rope. Soon they were to return to hospital.

“What is it over there?” one of them stopped suddenly, the younger one, and started trying to make out something in the trees.

“Where? I don’t see anything,” the other one replied. “Come. Oh how far we’ve gone! We’ll have to go back a long way, and now with such a luggage. Well, may God help us.”

“No-no,” the other one insisted. “There’s something there, I see. There, something black. Maybe a bear…”

“No, it must be some root,” the other one calmed her down.

“I’ll go look.”

“Wait, hold on!” the older one shouted, but the younger nun had already ran away and she had to follow her.

“Ah, sister Elizabeth!” shouted the nun, kneeling beside a man, who was sprawled on the ground with no signs of life. “It’s a man here and I think he is dead!”

“Goodness me! Step aside, let me see,” the other woman kneeled too, turned the man over on his back and listened to his chest. “He’s alive!”

She shouted and took a loop off his neck.

“Hurry and get the sleigh here, let’s bring him to hospital.”

They got to the hospital much faster than they thought they would. The man’s clothing was changed at once, he was put in a ward. Soon they put a terminally woman in the ward as well.

Time passed, but the man didn’t come back to his senses, while the woman on the other bed was getting worse and worse.

On the morning of the 16th of January of 200*, sister Elizabeth brought an old gramophone in the ward by sister Anastasia’s request. They always put it in the wards when they thought their patient’s case hopeless. 

“At least we can save their souls,” sister Anastasia explained. The woman put the device on the sidetable and lowered the needle.

_ Soften our evil hearts, O Mother of God, _

_ And quench the attacks of those who hate us _

_ And loose all straightness of our souls… _


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The end of my translating journey and of your reading one. Thanks to all who was here for me, who was reading.  
> For me this story has always been a revelation. It has always been my grace and my little written angel. In so many ways this story has changed me and gave me the taste of cold winters that I love and see each year. And most importantly, it gave me yet another glance at one of my favourite games of all times, Syberia.
> 
> Thanks to Eddie and Sangy, my friends, for being there for me and helping me out so much :) <3  
> Thanks to the wondrous author who kindly allowed me to translate her story and bring it to you all.
> 
> Don't forget to comment, please, as the author and myself will greatly appreciate your opinions.

Kate Walker, a New York lawyer, was watching tall sharp mountains, scraping the blue sky with no clouds. She’d never seen such clear sky and sunny weather during their entire journey. Everything was bright, the fog and Russian snow were left far behind, and only clean, high and light was ahead.

The sun was gently covering the metal floor of the train cabin, touching the woman’s fingers, head and running away somewhere.

“James asked me,” Oscar opened his eyes when he heard Kate’s voice. He was fast asleep, his back leaned to the furnace and his arms crossed, “had I had another chance, would I have done the same? He wanted to know if I’d have taken this journey again.”

“What did you tell him?”

Her lips trembled. She didn’t say anything for a while.

“I said no,” the man watched light change on her back, how it went down her head to her neck, then her shoulder plates and lower. “And would you have?”

“Yes,” he replied firmly and without thinking. “Of course.”

She looked at him with some kind of dawning, but hurried to look away and think it over. Then she asked all of a sudden.

“Oscar, what’s my name?”

“What?” he was surprised at her question. “Don’t you remember?”

“Just say it,” he thought he saw her flinch.

“Your name is Kate Walker.”

The woman turned and looked straight into his eyes. She looked at him for a long time, then smiled. Yet her smile wasn’t happy, it was regretful. As if she’d suddenly woken up from a long beautiful sleep where all her dreams came true. We never want to wake up from such dreams, but we have to. And we smile at them, just like Miss Walker was smiling now.

The woman sat by Oscar’s side and put her head on his shoulder.

“It’s a draw, Oscar.”

“Are you still playing the game?”

“I mean, a draw. 0:0.”

_ A large white seagull rose into clear tinkling air, spreading its large white wings, and soared in the sky, heading to distant North. Her flight was noiseless and beautiful, endlessly graceful. _

_ It flew for a while, first, in clear sky, then through white fog and heavy snow, till it reached less than half its journey. And then its soul and its body changed, and there was nothing else in it but a name, but soon the name was lost too, distorted, destroyed and lost. _

_ But it managed to keep its white colour, even in a different body. But whoever saw this seagull before, would never have recognized it again. _

_ And the bird flew over fir trees, through heavy snowstorms, avoiding all obstacles with grace and beauty, for all its enemies to see. Those who saw the bird and its power, called it Harfang, and in return it brought them endless wisdom and the clarity of mind and soul. Those who were lucky to meet it, realised how important it was and that one will forever acquire peace and will rejoice about clear sky and life, will never know pain or doubts till the end of their days. _


End file.
